Of Blood and Power
by Dalyon
Summary: AU Something happened to Harry the night Sirius died. Something that will help him achieve his goals, as he breaks free from Dumbledore and learns to wield the power that's his by right. Post OotP.
1. Knowledge

**I don't own Harry Potter, and naturally, will deny any accusations.**

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Sure it was over, sure Voldemort had decided to flee, Harry made his way out from behind his statue guard, but Dumbledore bellowed, "Stay where you are, Harry!"

For the first time, Dumbledore sounded frightened. Harry could not see why. The hall was quite empty but for themselves, the sobbing Bellatrix still trapped under her statue, and the tiny baby Fawkes croaking feebly on the floor.

And then Harry's scar burst open. He could feel the blood flowing down his forehead. He knew he was dead. It was pain beyond pain, pain beyond possibility.

He was gone from the atrium, he was locked in the coils of a creature with red eyes, so tightly bound that Harry did not know where his body ended and the creature's began. He could feel it inside of him. They were fused together, bound by pain, and there was no escape.

And when the creature spoke, it used his Harry's mouth, so that in his agony he felt his jaw move, and words come out. . . . "_Kill me now, Dumbledore_. . ."

Blinded and dying, every part of him screaming for release, Harry felt the creature use him again. . . . "_If death is nothing, Dumbledore, kill the boy_. . . ."

_Let the pain stop_, thought Harry. _Let him kill us_. . . . _End it Dumbledore_. . . . _Death is nothing compared to this_. . . .

_And I'll see Sirius again_. . . .

And as Harry's heart filled with emotion, he could feel the creature's coils loosen somewhat. He gathered all of the feelings inside of him and pushed it towards the creature. The coils loosened completely and the pain stopped.

Harry barely noticed though. He kept pushing. He took every feeling and emotion he had and pushed as hard as he could. He felt himself leaving his body. . . . . .

Then he entered someplace else. Somewhere new. He could hear an unearthly, blood curdling scream as he crashed through a barrier. The scream of someone in agony. The same sort of scream that had been coming out of him.

Then he realized where he was. He recognized it, somehow. It seemed oddly familiar. It seemed as if he was in his own mind. Or one very much like it. But the horrible screaming told him otherwise.

He was surrounded by what looked to be a giant cloud. It was completely black, except for small patches that were dark blue or blood red. There were jolts of electricity and energy running rampant inside it.

The whole thing reeked of darkness. So much that it almost overwhelmed him. But there was something else. Something older and stronger than the darkness. It was a feeling of raw power. Power like he had never felt before.

It was hypnotizing. It was calling to him, telling him to approach. Harry yearned to touch it. To sink into it, and let it wash over him. He hesitated for a moment, unsure of what he should do. But the yearning feeling was too strong and he plunged straight in.

He was overcome by the power. It smothered him, surrounding him on all sides. And as he absorbed it, he could briefly hear the screaming intensify. He could feel the power inside of him. It was twisting at his soul, bending it painfully.

The pain intensified as the power connected with him. He could feel it attaching to him, welding itself to his own power. Then they combined as one, and his senses were overwhelmed.

A horde of feelings and emotions came to him. Smells, tastes, sounds, and textures. Things he had never felt or experienced before. So much that it blinded him.

A rush of memories came with it, becoming implanted in his mind. He saw a young Tom Riddle as he put on the sorting hat, and took his place in Slytherin. He saw Riddle as he discovered his heritage. As he spent all his time in the library, in his quest for knowledge and power. He saw Riddle as he learned the unforgivables, as he killed his father, and drowned himself in the Dark Arts.

The memories kept coming. Everything from Riddle's life and Voldemort's existence. And then the knowledge came too. More information than he could possibly imagine. He could feel it being drilled into him, combining with his magical core.

The basics came first. The Levitating Charm, Calming Draft, and simple Transfiguration. All the lessons from the first year to the O.W.L. exams.

Then harder things came. Human Transfiguration, Advanced Charms, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Magical Creatures. The Polyjuice Potion, the Draught of the Living Dead, and Veritaserum. Subjects he had never studied before.

The knowledge kept coming. Spells, Potions, and Ritual Instructions that would never be found in the Hogwarts Library.

He learned the Unforgivables in an instant. He learned hundreds of charms, curses, hexes, and jinxes. All in the blink of an eye. He learned the Dark Arts, Rune Magic, Occlumency, and Legilemency. He learned Parsel Magic and Ancient Spells long forgotten. Things only Voldemort knew.

And still the lessons continued.

He learned how to make portkeys, how to apparate, how to duel, and how to fight with his bare hands. He learned Alchemy, Healing, Ward Magic, poisons, and antidotes. Languages he had never heard of, much less spoken. He knew all that Voldemort had learned throughout his life.

And then it suddenly stopped. The rush faded away until he could hear Voldemort's screams once again. Those too faded as he felt himself being pushed out painfully. He felt himself leaving Voldemort's body, and he shortly returned to his own.

He could hear voices around him, but couldn't decipher the words. He tried opening his eyes, but lacked the strength. Moving his head slightly, Harry Potter gave a small groan and promptly blacked out.


	2. Acceptance

**I know the idea of Harry stealing Voldemort's knowledge and memories has been used before, but it's one I like. Also, I haven't seen a story where Harry gets it when Voldemort tries possessing him at the Ministry.**

**I do not own Harry Potter.**

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"There you are Harry, I knew they would drag you into it somehow," Hermione said, breaking him out of his thoughts, as she lowered the paper.

Harry mentally shook himself. He had been going through his newfound knowledge when he realized Hermione was talking to him. It wouldn't do to be zoning out while in the presence of others. Though he doubted if any one would question him, considering what just happened.

It was Friday afternoon and Harry, Ginny, Neville, and Luna were visiting Ron and Hermione in the hospital wing. Harry was sitting on the end of Ron's bed, barely paying attention as Hermione rattled on about something or another. What was it? Ah yes, the _Daily Prophet, _Harry thought sardonically.

The Prophet had done a180 over night. The day before he had been the lying, attention seeking, nutcase. Today though. . . . . . well today he was once again their hero. The lone voice of truth, who was forced to suffer slander and ridicule, while never wavering in his story, the article said. Of course, it didn't mention that they were the ones slandering and ridiculing him the whole time.

No, today he was once more the Boy Who Lived. The icon of the light, the savior of the wizarding world. Rather convenient, was it not?

Harry hadn't told any of them what happened in the Death Chamber, and he wasn't planning to any time soon. Seeing as Hermione hadn't done her usual interrogation though, he figured Neville had briefed them. It was all too fresh in his mind, and he would have to come to terms with it himself before he shared his thoughts with others. It's not like they could possibly understand anyway.

They didn't watch their godfather fall through the veil, try their hand at the Cruciatus, and then get possessed by a Dark Lord. And in turn, break into said Dark Lord's mind, gaining all his knowledge and memories. All in one night. No, Harry was pretty sure they hadn't experienced that one.

Then, to top it all off, there was the prophecy. Wonderful news that was, Harry thought sarcastically. Dumbledore couldn't have told him at a better time. He hadn't told the Headmaster what happened when Voldemort tried possessing him, and he wasn't going to. He figured Dumbledore would be watching him closely after telling him the prophecy.

If he told Dumbledore that he just raped Voldemort's mind, and new more Dark Arts than all of the Lord Wanker's inner circle combined, the old man would probably lock him in a cage. For his own protection of course. He would keep the prophecy and his new knowledge to himself for the time being, thank you very much.

His friends wouldn't understand and Dumbledore and the Order couldn't help him. He would have to get through Sirius' death alone. He would mourn, as he had mourned last night after leaving Dumbledore's office, but he wouldn't let it drag him down. No, he had more important things to do.

With any luck, people will give him room. They will think he's mourning, and respect his wishes to be left alone. And Harry wouldn't do anything to dispel those notions. As long as they thought he was a saddened and depressed teen, they would see him as such. They wouldbe blind tothe changes that had occurred. They didn't need to know that he had shed his tears already.

To say that he had changed would be an understatement. He felt like a whole new person. It wasn't just his newfound knowledge though. He felt as if something had woken inside of him.

He felt, to his surprise, rather. . . . Slytherin like. And even more surprising was how much he enjoyed the feeling. It was his serpent side he had felt rise in him. As if the dormant snake had awoken at last.

He was just as much a Slytherin as he was a Gryffindor. Yet, he had been denying it since he put on the sorting hat. He had never accepted the snake, and that had held him back . Everyone had expected him to be the perfect little Gryffindor, and that was what he had become.

He would be there Golden Boy no more, though. He would not allow them to control him. He would not be there puppet, to defeat the Dark Lord and then be discarded. He would not fight for those who had scorned and abandoned him. Let them suffer the consequences of their betrayal.

If he were to defeat Voldemort for himself, he would need the Slytherin inside of him. He embraced it, and he accepted it as who he was. The power was there, he could feel it flowing through him. Now he had the knowledge to use it. And at that moment, Harry James Potter was born anew.

There was work to be done.

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**Please review**


	3. The Chamber of Secrets

**I don't own Harry Potter, nor am I making money from this endeavor.**

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Early Saturday morning found Harry walking quietly along a first floor corridor. His invisibility cloak and the Marauders Map ensuring he wouldn't be seen or followed. It was early enough that only a Ravenclaw would be awake, but he couldn't take any chances. The old man may have started watching him already

He came to his destination, a deserted girls bathroom, and turned the brass doorknob. It was as he remembered it. Gloomy, and depressing. The floor was damp, and the stall doors were dangling off the hinges. He walked over to the end stall and opened it. He was rather surprised to find it was empty.

"Myrtle must be out," Harry said to himself. He couldn't suppress a laugh at the thought.

There was a large mirror on one wall, cracked and spotted with age. Beneath it were a row of chipped sinks. He stood before the one in the middle and found what he was looking for. A small snake scratched on the side of one of the copper taps.

**"Open,"** he hissed at it in Parseltongue.

The sink began to move, and then it sank completely out of sight. A large pipe had taken its place, just as it had done three years ago. Harry took one more look around, before dropping down the opening. The ridewas much as he remembered it, dark and slimy. The pipe twisted and turned before leveling out. He shot out the end and landed on a damp floor.

He cast a cleaning charm on himself, and his robes returned to normal. Walking forward, he flicked his wand and the torches on the wall burst into flame, filling the room with light. The floor was still littered with bones, and the giant snake skin lay curled on the ground.

He waved his wand in an arc as he muttered a powerful vanishing spell, followed by another cleaning charm. The bones and skin instantly disappeared, leaving behind the smooth walls and floor of the stone tunnel. A rush of memories came back to him as he walked down the passage. Memories that were both his and Voldemort's.

Making his way to the solid wall on which the entwined serpents were carved, he hissed for them to open. They sprang to life at his command, revealing the long, dimly lit chamber.

Harry flicked his wand once more. Unseen torches blazed to life, as light filled the grand chamber. Towering stone pillars rose to support the ceiling, all of them adorned with carved snakes. The chamber was easily twice the size of the Great Hall. It ended with the giant statue of Salazar Slytherin, looking as regal as ever. Even 1,000 years after it was made.

The basilisk was still there, as it had only been a few years since its death. He would need to salvage it, as the parts were necessary for one of the potions he planned to make. He knew Basilisk ingredients were dead expensive, and Snape would have probably had a mild orgasm just at the sight of the giant serpent.

He walked along the chamber until he came to the last pillar. Carved into the stone was an Egyptian cobra, poised to strike. He hissed at the snake, and its emerald eyes came to life. The wall behind the pillar slid open, revealing a stone passageway. It was just as he had seen in the Dark Lord's memories.

The passage led to aseries of smaller chambers, all heavily coated with dust. It looked as if they hadn't been cleaned since Slytherin left. Though Harry knew from his encounter that young Tom had used the rooms before.

It seems as though Voldemort isn't the cleaning type, Harry thought with humor.

The small chambers consisted of living rooms, a study, and a series of training rooms filled with ancient weapons. Harry figured Slytherin must have designed them as a private retreat of sorts. And as everything was Parsel activated, he figured the old serpent had either been highly paranoid of intrusion, or severely obsessed with his snakish gift.

What any Slytherin wouldn't give to be where he is now, Harry thought wryly.

He searched farther, lighting the torches and casting cleaning charms as he went. He found a small library full of books on potions, Parsel Magic, the Dark Arts, and other various aspects of magic. He started to search through them eagerly. Then he noticed something strange. They were all written in Parseltongue.

That could only mean one thing -

"Slytherin's personal library," Harry whispered in realization. Not just books Slytherin had owned. No, these were books he had actually written. Things he had discovered himself. Things that had been known only to him. And as he had no recollection of the place, he figured Riddle had never found it.

Somewhat reluctantly, he put the books back on their shelf. He would come back for them later. For now though, he had something more important to do. Picking his wand up again, he left the library.

He delved deeper into the chamber, looking for something he _knew_ Riddle had never found.

Turning a corner he was met by a dead end. The tunnel abruptly cut off, and on the smooth, stone wall was carved a snake he didn't recognize. As he examined it though, he realized it was different from the others. All the carved snakes he had come across so far had been fitted with emeralds for eyes. This one though had what seemed to be black diamonds where its eyes would be.

His excitement growing, Harry walked up to the snake an ordered it to open in Parseltongue.

For a moment nothing happened . . . . . . and then the wall started to slid into the surrounding rock. It left an open passage in its void, and as Harry walked forward he was met with a gust of fresh air.

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**Just a slight cliffy!**

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	4. The Legacy

**I do not own Harry Potter.**

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Harry's journey to Myrtle's bathroom was once again made without interruption early Monday morning. He had risen before dawn, eaten in the kitchens, and had then taken several shortcuts to the first floor. Time was of the essence, and he didn't know how much longer Ron and Hermione would be in the hospital wing. In order for his operation to be a success, no one must know of it.

Arriving at the bathroom, he hissed at the tiny snake on the tap, and dropped down the hole that emerged.

The trip down was easy once one got used to the sudden twists and turns. The thick layer of slime having dispersed somewhat from the interior of the pipe, due to the frequent trips he had made over the past two days.

The chamber filled with light at the flick of his wand as he entered, his hurried steps echoing across the vast hall. He gave the command to the stone cobra, and entered the passage as it opened in the smooth wall.

He walked briskly through the smaller chambers, ignoring the rooms that he passed. Traveling deeper, he reached his destination, the tunnel that was abruptly cut off. The snake that was carved on the wall, as he had learned in the Hogwarts library, was a Nevroc. They were highly magical creatures, as well as extremely rare, native only to swamps and lowlands.

Similar to the fens young Salazar had grown up in.

Giving the word, the smooth wall slid once more into the surrounding rock. He walked forward, and entered the secret passage he had found three days before. The passage that young Riddle hadn't.

The passage itself was rather long. Longer even than the one that led to the Honeydukes cellar. It was relatively flat, though it changed direction more than once, and the fresh air was reassuring. Stepping up his pace; he walked farther away from Hogwarts, and closer to the mountain outside of Hogsmeade. The tunnel ended in a small cave, and he emerged, from the entrance carefully concealed among the rocks and boulders.

He was near the foot of the mountain, not nearly as high as the cave in which Sirius had taken refuge, but well outside the wards of Hogwarts. The cave blended in nicely, and would go unnoticed unless you knew of it. And even if a certain Headmaster did know of the secret passage; he would not be able to pass the Parsel activated door.

With a last look at the distant Hogwarts, Harry Potter disapparated without a sound.

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Diagon Alley was rather quiet as he walked down the cobbled street. Or at least quieter than it was the few times he had previously been there. There were a few witches bustling about with small children, but there was nowhere near the crowds he had witnessed before. It was a weekday though, and Hogwarts was still in session. That was why he had decided to come now, and not while he was at Privet Drive, with an Order member reporting his every move. With any luck though, he wouldn't be staying at Privet Drive for long this summer.

He removed his invisibility cloak, and placed it in his bag as he neared the snowy white form of Gringotts. Pushing open the silver, inner doors, he walked smoothly up to the nearest counter, his bangs hiding the damning scar.

The lines were not long, and soon he stood before a sneering goblin.

"May I help you?" the goblin asked, the expression never leaving his face.

"I have an appointment scheduled with Ripthor of the Inheritance Office," Harry said in a confidant voice. Voldemort's lessons had certainly done wonders for his self-esteem.

The sneer on the goblins face faded as he regarded Harry more closely, his eyes traveling to the scar hidden on his forehead. The goblin nodded and motioned to his left.

"If you will wait one moment, he will be here shortly."

Harry nodded in turn and took a seat in the waiting area, as far from the nearest person as possible.

At least the goblins had the sense not to shout out his name, Harry thought, as one beckoned him forward. He was led to a room off of the main lobby, a plaque on the door designating it the Inheritance Office.

Ripthor proved to be a surprisingly young goblin with a goatee on his chin. Though Harry wasn't sure how he could tell the goblin's age, as they all looked the same to him.

"Mr. Potter," Ripthor said as he bowed his head slightly in customary greeting. He motioned for Harry to take a seat.

"You wished to discuss the accessibility of your inheritance, if I'm not mistaken," the goblin asked as he peered at Harry with beady eyes.

"That's correct," Harry said calmly, unperturbed at the goblins gaze. "I wish to claim lordship of the House of Potter as pertaining to the Goblin Laws."

Ripthor's eyes widened at Harry's words.

"You are familiar with our laws?" the goblin asked, the surprise evident in his voice.

Harry nodded his head in affirmation.

"The eldest male can claim lordship prematurely if he reaches the legal age and the title is passed on to him, or in the event that he is the last of his respected house and capable of holding such a title," he said smoothly. He had learned more than curses from the Dark Lord.

The surprise became even more obvious on Ripthor's face, before he smiled in approval. It was a somewhat disconcerting look.

"You are well versed in our ways, Mr. Potter. That speaks highly of you," the goblin said. "And as you stated, lordship can be claimed in the event you are the last remaining heir and capable of holding such a title. You will soon reach the legal age according to Goblin Law, so there should be no problem there."

Ripthor got out of his seat and opened one of the doors to the cabinet behind him. He took out a small box and placed it on his desk.

"I assume you are familiar with the blood identifying ritual?" he asked Harry, as he took from the box a dagger and what looked to be a small pensieve. Harry nodded that he did and took the dagger Ripthor offered him. He pricked his finger and let a few drops of blood fall into the small, mist-filled bowl.

A multicolored vapor whirled around the bowl as the blood sank in. It then turned a pure silver as it recognized Harry as a rightful heir. The process was done in order to confirm someone's identity, so an imposter wouldn't be able to claim what wasn't theirs. It also served another purpose though. It showed all the estates a person had been designated a beneficiary of.

As Harry witnessed when another goblin walked in and handed Ripthor a small box along with a sealed scroll. Ripthor broke the seal and unrolled the parchment, studying it for a few moments before nodding and handing it to Harry.

He looked the parchment over and read:

**Harry James Evans Potter**

**Potter Estate - designated by James Leonard Potter, 1981**

**Tenaroe Estate - designated by Theden Barnoc Tenaroe, 1844**

Harry frowned slightly at the last one. He had heard the name Tenaroe before, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember where. He was more than a little confused as to how he could be designated the heir. Sirius had told him of the House of Potter, and that was how he had known what to do. He had never told Harry of a Tenaroe legacy though. His godfather must not have known.

He was interrupted in his thoughts by Ripthor, who seemed to have sensed his confusion.

"The Potter Estate, as you can imagine, was designated your's when your father died 15 years ago.

It has stayed the same since his death, though more than one person has tried to lay claim to it.

"The second one, the Tenaroe Estate, is a bit more complicated. It comes not from your father's line, but that of your mother's. As you can see, the Estate was designated back in 1844, when the last Lord of Tenaroe died. At the time of his death he had no male heir, and as such, the Estate became dormant. It's a common practice among the old pureblood families. And as you are the first male of the bloodline to be born since then, you are automatically designated heir."

Harry frowned once more as he let Ripthor's words sink in.

"I thought my mother was of common muggle stock," He said, directing his words toward the goblin.

Ripthor nodded in agreement. "It's quite possible that your mother wasn't aware of the fact she came from a pureblood family. As I said, the Lord Tenaroe did not have a male heir when he died. His surviving daughter most likely gave birth to squibs; a trait which probably continued until your mother was born. That would have made the previous six or seven generations non-magical. A family could easily forget their true heritage. It has happened before."

Ripthor handed him the small box that had been brought with the parchment. It was intricately carved, of a wood Harry didn't recognize. He opened it slowly, for some reason fearing what he might find. Inside were two rings, one of which he recognized as the Potter family ring. His Godfather had described it to him. The ring itself was made of gold and had a ruby set in the center, engraved with a lion.

He picked it up and slipped it on the middle finger of his right hand. The ring started to glow, and began to shrink until it fit his finger. He felt a slight prick, and the ring glowed even brighter.

"The ring is recognizing you as the Lord of Potter," Ripthor said when he saw Harry's questioning look. "The pain you just felt in your finger was the ring testing your blood, making sure you were the rightful heir."

"What would happen if someone besides the heir were to try it on?" Harry asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Ripthor's face broke into a nasty grin at the question.

"All family rings have a defense mechanism in case someone besides the heir tries to where it. The mechanism varies though, depending on how powerful the ring is. It could give someone a slight sting, or it could put them into a magical coma. It all depends on what the ring thinks is best."

Harry didn't question the "thinking" ring concept, as he could feel the power in it.

He picked the second ring out of the box and examined it, his eyes filling with awe.

The ring was made of silver, goblin wrought, if Harry were to guess from the craftsmanship. At the center was a beautiful emerald, engraved with a regal looking snake. The snake's head was poised to strike, its onyx eyes flashing in the light. He recognized it immediately as a Nevroc, the same snake that guarded his secret passage.

He slipped it on his ring finger, next to the Potter ring. The ring began to glow, but unlike the first one, it glowed a startling green. It was the same green as his eyes. The glowing grew as he felt the ring prick his finger, recognizing him as the Tenaroe heir.

"The power emitting from this ring is greater, as it has not been worn in more than 150 years," Ripthor explained as the glow faded completely. Harry had to admit the rings looked amazing as they adorned his hand, side by side. The silver contrasted with the gold wonderfully.

Ripthor handed him the empty box and the parchment that had come with it.

"There is another matter to discuss," the goblin said as he walked back to his desk. He pulled open a draw and took out a sealed parchment.

"Gringotts has recently been notified of the death of one Sirius Orion Black, Head of the House of Black. As his Godson, you have been named a main beneficiary in his will. As such, your presence is required at the reading of the will, scheduled to take place at ten o'clock on the 14th of July. The reading will be in Conference Room 7, which is located just down the hall."

He handed Harry the parchment, which was sealed with the Gringotts crest.

"Normally, we send the letter by owl. You are here though, so I might as well give it to you now. This will also insure that you receive the letter, as we wouldn't want it to become lost on the way."

Harry certainly hadn't expected this. He had even thought of his Godfather's will, as Sirius had died less than a week ago. Goblins really were proficient. And he took Ripthor's words for what they were; a warning. It wouldn't surprise him if the Mugwump decided to read his mail. The old coot would simply defend himself by saying it was for Harry's own protection, and the Order of the Phoenix wouldn't dream of questioning their leader's ethics.

"Thank you, Ripthor," he said. "You're right of course, we wouldn't want this to become lost, before it reached its intended recipient."

Ripthor nodded as the grin on his face grew, effectively displaying his sharp, pointy teeth.

"Allow me to be the first to congratulate you on your new status," Ripthor said. "Harry James Evans Potter, Lord of Potter, Lord of Tenaroe"

Harry merely raised an eyebrow, causing the shorter creature to laugh for some reason. Leading him toward the door, Ripthor said, "Now, let me show you to your vaults."

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**I don't know if there was any confusion about the second name, so I will elaborate.**

**Tenaroe is pronounced: ten - uh - row**

**The 'e' is silent.**

**The Tenaroe legacy will be explained more in the following chapters, and Harry's connection to the Lord Tenaroe will be extremely important.**

**If you have questions or any of that crock, I may consider possibly reading them. Anyway, please review!**


	5. Blood Revelations

**Re-edited.**

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Located near the surface, Ancestral vaults were among the oldest at Gringotts London Branch, some of them being built nearly a thousand years ago. They are a mark of prestige among the wizarding elite. Belonging to the oldest and wealthiest of the pureblood's, they represent lordship of one's house.

Such vaults are highly valued in the magical world, and those who own them carry great influence. Rarely do they switch hands, and even rarer should an individual own more than one. Wizarding society often fears the consolidation of power that is possible should someone become lord of two families.

Add to it the fact that one of the vaults hadn't been opened in a century and a half, and Harry felt his excitement was justified.

They hadn't even bothered taking a cart. Instead Ripthor led him down a flight of stairs that took them to long hallway. They walls were lined with ornate vault doors and the floor was made of marble. It was certainly different from the lower levels were his parents' vault was located.

The Potter Ancestral vault proved to be vault number eleven, and the door was adorned with the same lion as his family ring.

Harry held the ring up to the giant cat as Ripthor instructed, and was surprised when the lion's eyes rested on the signet. It stared at it for a moment, as if examining the authenticity, and then shifted it's gaze to Harry.

There was a moment of silence as young lord and beast evaluated each other. Then the lion bowed its head slightly, seemingly satisfied with what it had found. There were a series of clicking noises, and the vault door swung open. He looked at Ripthor, who nodded and told the human he would wait in the hall.

Harry stepped forward apprehensively, and the door closed behind him.

The inside of the vault was a simple chamber, twenty feet wide by forty feet long. The walls were made of smooth stone and the floor a dark marble. One wall was lined with over thirty trunks, chests, and cabinets of various sizes. Opening a few, Harry found them to be overflowing with gold galleons and silver sickles, while others contained diamonds and rubies. The contents of his parents' vault was spare change compared to this.

The Potter physical assets, he presumed.

He filled several money bags with galleons, more than most respectable people made in a year, and turned backed to the room. The space in the center of the vault was taken up by a large, antique table. It was piled high with an array of magical instruments, ancient weapons, and battle armor. The armor and weaponry were all outdated though, and would serve little purpose in a fight with Death Eaters. Unless they decided to throw down their wands that is.

For some reason, he didn't think they would.

His search through the magical instruments proved more rewarding though. He found another invisibility cloak and a rather powerful sneakoscope among the odds and ends. The prize though was the magical trunk, buried beneath a pile of charts and a large foe glass. It had a series of locks and keyholes, similar to the one Moody owned. The first several opened different compartments, some bigger than the others. And like Mad-Eye's, the last lock opened to an underground room, slightly smaller than his bedroom at Privet Drive.

Putting the cloak and sneakoscope in the first compartment along with the bags of gold, he pocketed the keys and walked over to the other wall. About half of it was covered with additional weaponry; larger things that wouldn't fit on the table. There were several heavy axes and broadswords that were nearly as tall as he was.

Not exactly what he sought.

The other half of the wall was made up of bookcases; the shelves crammed full with essays, manuals, and large tomes. He scanned the titles, picking out a few texts that looked promising. The majority of the books were on Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Ward Magic. The Transfiguration books didn't surprise him, as it had been his father's strongest area. Likewise with the ones on Defense. The numerous books on Ward Magic were a surprise though, as it was a somewhat obscure branch.

There were also several deed books that he took. They listed the properties owned by the family and the various investments and business dealings that had been made over the years. He was sure they would prove helpful.

He made his way to the far wall, which was completely bare save for a large, embroidered tapestry. He recognized it immediately as his family tree, having seen the one at number twelve Grimmauld Place. At the very top, in large letters it read:

**The Ancient House of Potter**

He found his name rather quickly, as it was the last one on the tree. It was also, he noticed, the only one that didn't have a date of death following it. A thin, gold line connected him to his parents above. He traced the line, going through his grandparents and all the relatives he would never meet. He skimmed farther up the tree, skipping several centuries, until before the Potter name. He kept going, as the name changed once more, this time to the one he was looking for. He found it near the top, one of the first names on the tree. In black letters it read:

**Godric Arnarion Gryffindor**

The name didn't really surprise him. He had suspected since the end of second year that he was the founder's heir. How else could he have wielded the sword of Godric Gryffindor? This merely confirmed his suspicions. There were several other names on the tree that he recognized, though none were as prominent as the ancient lion.

He glanced at his watch and noticed he only had an hour in a half left. He wanted to be back at Hogwarts before lunch, as Dumbledore would notice his absence, were he not. Shrinking his trunk, he placed it in his pocket and left the vault, the door locking behind him.

* * *

"The Tenaroe Ancestral vault is number three, being among the first built at Gringotts London Branch. It is over nine hundred years old, and even more secure than the Potter vault," Ripthor said as he led Harry farther down the marble hall.

"What do you mean by more secure?" Harry asked as they passed a vault door adorned with a silver dragon. He absentmindedly recognized it as the shield of the Flamel family, though he was unsure as to how he knew.

"The Tenaroe vault, like that of Potter, is guarded by the creature on the family shield. Unlike the Potter one though, the Tenaroe vault is also guarded by a distinct family trait. A trait that every magical member of the line possesses," Ripthor explained. He then added, "Though sometimes only the male members of a family have the trait. Its just another way to ensure that only the rightful heir can open the vault."

The part about the family trait puzzled Harry. He knew that some traits belonged only to certain families, and most pureblood's had one. It could be something as simple as the red hair of the Weasley's, or something as rare as the runic gift of the Morgan family. He supposed it would become clear when they reached the vault.

The vault in question was located near the end of the hall, and as they neared it, Harry could make out the Nevroc on the door. It was the same as the one on his ring, only much larger. He stood before the door and held the Tenaroe ring up to the serpent. The Nevroc studied the signet, as the lion had done with the other, and shortly nodded it's consent. Harry wasn't paying attention though. His gaze was fixed upon a spot above the snake, his mouth open and his body frozen in shock.

There, carved into the door, were several words written in parseltongue.

"**Open in the name of Tenaroe,"** Harry hissed, voicing the inscription written upon the door. He no longer wondered what the family trait was, though he couldn't guess how it was possible.

He slowly entered, and once more, the door closed behind him. He didn't know what to expect from a vault that hadn't been opened in one hundred and fifty years, but this certainly wasn't it. The chamber was larger than that of the Potter vault, and richly furnished in green and black. In the center was a small table surrounded by chairs and couches, a gold chandelier hanging overhead. There were a few books scattered about, in the same spot as they were when the vault was last closed. There were chests and trunks full of gold like those in his other vault, though nowhere near as many.

It seemed the Tenaroe family was more of the scholarly type. The majority of the wall space was covered in shelves, with books stacked from floor to ceiling. Unlike the Potter family, whose vault had been filled with weapons. The subjects ranged from potions to the mind arts, with a lot of everything else in between. Hermione would have gone green with envy if she were to see the collection. The newest book was over two hundred years old, and many of them were worth a small fortune, being the only copies in existence.

It was the tapestry that called to him though. Embroidered in green and black, it was even larger than the Potter family tree. Hanging on the remaining wall, it took up all the space not devoted to books. It was beautifully made, with names dating back a thousand years. His name was once more the lowest one, with his mother's directly above it. He scanned to the very top, almost afraid of what he would find. And true to form, when his eyes fell upon it, his heart nearly skipped a beat. For at the top of the tree was the name:

**Salazar Dristalyon Slytherin **

Shaking the feeling of shock, he traced the Slytherin name down until the sixteenth century, when it changed to Tenaroe. The Tenaroe name lasted for another three hundred years. That was when the last Lord Tenaroe died. The tree showed that he was survived only by his daughter, both his sons having died years before. The daughter in turn, married a man named Daniel Evans. That name was passed down over the next six generations, until his mother was born. There was a green line connecting his mother with James Potter, and a double line connecting them to their son.

It would be interesting to see the look on his aunt's face were she to see this. A descendant of one of the most famous 'freaks' of all time, as that was how she thought them.

A dawning realization came to him then. Numbly, he traced his finger across the lines to the other side of the tree. His face paled as he saw the name stitched near the bottom, almost as low as his.

With a date of birth some seventy years before it read:

**Tom Marvolo Riddle**

He just stood there for a few minutes, staring at the name of his enemy. At the name of the man he was going to kill. At the name of his very distant cousin.

The ultimate ironyHarry thought with dryly.

From what the tree showed, the Slytherin line had divided some four hundred and fifty years ago.There was a split in the middle of the sixteenth century, which is when the Tenaroe name appearedSince then, the two factions had separated fartheruntil the relation was barely discernable.

Harry briefly remembered his second year when his Parseltongue ability became public knowledge.

* * *

"_It matters," said Hermione, speaking at last in a hushed voice, "because being able to talk to snakes was what Salazar Slytherin was famous for. That's why the symbol of Slytherin House is a serpent."_

_Harry's mouth fell open._

"_Exactly," said Ron. "And now the whole school's going to think you're his great-great-great-great grandson or something -_

"_But I'm not," said Harry, with a panic he couldn't quite explain._

"_You'll find that hard to prove," said Hermione. "He lived about a thousand years ago; for all we know, you could be."_

* * *

"How right you were, Hermione," Harry said to himself quietly. "How right you were."

* * *

Leaving the Tenaroe vault shortly after, Harry followed Ripthor up to the main floor. It was past midday, and he would need to be back at Hogwarts soon. Passing the Potter vault , he suddenly remembered something the goblin had said earlier.

"Ripthor," he began. "You told me earlier that more than one person tried to lay claim to the Potter legacy after I was designated the heir."

"That's correct," the goblin replied. "Several pureblood families tried claiming the lordship after your father died."

"And what were the basis to their claims?" Harry asked, though he could imagine what the answer was.

"I believe the majority of the claims were based on the closeness of relation between your father and the family claiming the title. If I'm not mistaken, they believed they had the right to the legacy as their blood was purer than yours. An incorrect assumption of course, as you are the Tenaroe heir."

An intense feeling of anger filled him as he listened to Ripthor. That someone had tried to steal a legacy that wasn't rightfully theirs, basing their claim on the purity of blood was rather pathetic. The fact that they had tried to steal a legacy that belonged to an infant was in itself disgusting. It was something Lucius Malfoy would have tried, and Harry wouldn't be surprised if the Death Eater had. He quickly smothered the rage building inside of him, he didn't want anything nearby to explode.

They arrived in the main lobby, which Harry happily noticed was nearly empty. Pulling one of the heavy bags of gold out of his pocket, he handed it to the goblin beside him, his body hiding the exchange from all views.

"For your assistance, Ripthor," he said to the stunned goblin. "And your silence. The Lords of Potter and Tenaroe have not returned."

With that, Harry walked out of Gringotts, leaving a pleasantly surprised Ripthor in his wake. Neither man nor goblin noticed the red haired man with a pony tail, watching from an open doorway. Shock was evident on his face.

* * *

**Well, there it is folks. The Tenaroe Legacy.**

**Until next time, please review!**


	6. End of Term

**This chapter isn't the greatest, but it has parts that will be crucial later on. And the chapters will get longer.**

**I don't own Harry Potter**

* * *

Ron and Hermione left the hospital wing completely cured three days before the end of term. And much to Harry's annoyance, they brought their childish bickering with them. You would think that getting hit with a dark curse and being attacked by brains, respectively, would maybe give one a new outlook on life. But it seemed as though their time in the hospital wing had only degraded their maturity level. 

Hermione showed signs of wanting to talk about Sirius; between her constant arguing with Ron and her accusations that Harry had ditched them while they were recovering.

How observant of her, Harry thought as he tried to control his urge to hex the bossy girl.

He briefly wondered how powerful a memory charm he would need to cast in order for Ron and Hermione to forget they ever met the Boy Who Lived.

On second thought, someone might notice if the two suddenly forgot five years of misadventure. He would come up with another plan. Quietly casting a Confundus Charm, he made a hasty retreat, leaving the two confused prefects in his wake.

Several people called out or waved as Harry made his way down to the Great Hall for dinner. He ignored them all. He had no idea how much they knew about the events that occurred at the Ministry, and he wasn't going to satisfy their curiosity.

They had looked away, and he wouldn't hold their hand now that they realized the monster was back.

He had just descended the last marble step into the entrance hall when Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and several other members of the former Inquisitorial Squad emerged from a door leading to the dungeons. Harry stopped dead, and so did Slytherins.

Malfoy glanced around. Harry knew he was looking for signs of a teacher. Looking back at Harry, he said in a low voice, "You're dead, Potter."

Harry quirked an eyebrow and let a grin spread across his face. "Funny," he said, "you'd think I'd have stopped walking around."

The Malfoy heir looked angrier than Harry had ever seen him. There were similar looks on the faces of the other Slytherins. His grin spread even more, and he absently noticed that they were drawing a crowd.

"You're going to pay," said Malfoy in a voice that everyone in the entrance hall could hear. "I'm going to make you pay for what you did to my father."

Harry let out a bark like a laugh at Malfoy's words. It seemed to infuriate the Slytherins even more.

"Malfoy, you incompetent idiot, I doubt you could harm a first year," he said so the crowd could hear. It had slowly been growing in size.

"Tell me, how is your father enjoying Azkaban? Did they give him a cell with a view?"he asked innocently.

"The Dementors have left," said Malfoy, advancing now, the others flanking him. In the back of his mind, Harry registered that there were six Slytherins and one of him. Poor blokes are outnumbered, he thought with amusement. He mentally shook himself; apparently Malfoy was still talking.

"Dad and the others will be out in no time," Harry heard him say.

"Yeah I expect they will," Harry said with a shrug. "With any luck, though, I'll get another chance to kill the asshole."

Malfoy and the others all went for their wands at the same time. Harry was faster though. He had drawn his own before they had even reached theirs.

"_Amplifico pello_," Harry shouted.

The advanced Banishing Charm sent three of the Slytherins flying into the wall behind them. They sank to the floor, unconscious.

Quickly waving his wand, a green dome surrounded him, just as Malfoy and the other two fired curses. Instead of reflecting them though, the dome absorbed the magic. With a flick of his wand, Harry dropped the shield. He briefly saw the look of shock on Malfoy's face as his own curses back fired on him.

The three remaining Slytherins fell to the floor; covered in gashes, boils, and burn marks.

"Nasty business, that," Harry commented casually.

He took one last look at Malfoy's stupidity, before walking into the Great Hall for dinner, leaving a stunned crowd behind him.

* * *

The last evening of school arrived; most people had packed already and were heading down to the end of term feast. Harry hadn't finished yet and was in the fifth year dorm, ignoring Ron's complaints that they would be late for dinner. 

Honestly, Harry thought with exasperation, doesn't the ape ever think about anything besides food?

"I won't be long," he told the impatient red head. "I'm sure the food will still be there when we arrive." He then added, "You can go ahead if you want, I only have a few things left."

When Ron finally left, Harry looked around the room and cast a strong privacy charm. From his pocket he took a small box. Unshrinking it, the box grew until it was half the size of his bed. He took more than twenty large jars out of it and put them in his magical trunk. They were the ingredients he had salvaged from the Basilisk. It had been tedious work cutting apart the giant serpent, but it was well worth it.

He pulled a long, heavy package out next. He wasn't sure what he was going to do with the hide; he did know it was extremely valuable though. Full-grown Basilisks were hard to find. He didn't have the skill required to make robes from the material, but he had made a nice wand holster. It was now strapped to his left forearm and he had practiced drawing his wand from different positions.

It was safer than sticking it in your pocket, and the anti-summoning charm he had added was a nice touch. Securing the ingredients and locking the trunk, he shrank it again and put it in his pocket. He would be using his old trunk on the Hogwarts Express tomorrow. Ron and Hermione would no doubt ask questions if they saw his magical one.

He made his way down to the Great Hall, passing a dreamy looking Luna Lovegood on his way. That girl was either a terrific actor or as messed in the head as Dumbledore, Harry thought.

He really wasn't looking forward to the feast. He had avoided the Great Hall as much as possible; eating before or after the crowds came. Ron and Hermione had thought he was avoiding the attention; though Ron had seemed confused as to why anyone would want to avoid such a wonderful thing. Truths be told, he didn't want to snap the next time someone mentioned how they had always believed him. He would end up cursing the idiot into oblivion.

Walking across the entrance hall, he pushed open the doors to the Great Hall as quietly as possible, and slipped in without a sound.

For all the good it did him. It seemed as though he had arrived in the middle of one of Dumbledore's infamous speeches. He briefly caught the words 'triumph', 'good', and 'evil' before the Headmaster noticed him. Dumbledore paused when he did, and of course, every head in the Great Hall turned to see what had distracted the bearded wizard.

Harry let out a small snort as the whispers started, and sat down at the end of the table next to Neville. Ignoring the Headmaster's twinkling eyes and the murmurs around him; his gaze met that of the Potions Professor. He had never seen so much hate in Snape's obsidian eyes before. Apparently, news of how the Gryffindor had taken out six of his Slytherins single handed had reached the spy's ears. And he thought Slytherins were supposed to hide their emotions. Snape's glare could have melted an iceberg.

Harry gave the man a lopsided grin and a patronizing wave, and was rewarded in turn by an indignant splutter from the Death Eater.

Ah yes, he thought to himself. This will be fun indeed.

* * *

The journey home on the Hogwarts Express the next day was eventful in several ways. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who had been waiting since Wednesday for a time to strike, tried ambushing Harry on his way back from the bathroom. The attack might have succeeded was it not for the fact that they were complete idiots. Harry had seen their reflection in the window ahead of him as he walked back to his compartment. 

So when the students stuck their heads out of the doors to see what the loud commotion was, they found Harry standing in the aisle laughing his head off.

"Uh, Potter," asked a brown haired boy tentatively. Harry recognized him as a Blaise Zabini, a Slytherin in the same year.

"You okay?" the boy asked. He was frowning slightly as he watched Harry laugh uncontrollably.

In reply, Harry pointed his finger above his head, unfit to speak. The gathered students looked up to find Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. They were hanging upside down from the ceiling, covered with tentacles and a thick, gooey substance.

Still laughing to himself, Harry walked back to his compartment. He passed Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville on the way, all of whom had come to investigate. He sat down in the corner of his now deserted compartment, his back to the wall and wand in hand.

Nothing wrong with a healthy bit of paranoia, he thought truthfully.

He pulled a thick, leather bound book from his trunk and opened it. It was one Slytherin's journals that he had found in the Chamber of Secrets. Finding the spot where he had left off, he began to read.

_A divide has been made today, and I fear it will only grow wider. The topic is one the others and I have discussed numerous times over the years. That of the material which we will teach are young students. We have always disagreed on the area, but in the end we have been able to compromise. _

_It seems that Godric has found out about the privet lessons I offer my students. The subjects that we cover in these lessons are less than honorable according to him. I asked him what honor had to do with magic. We live in a time of war, and one does not win a war by being honorable. One wins a war by doing what is necessary. And Godric, despite all the battles he has been in, has never understood that. _

_I wish to teach my students of all the branches of magic. I want them to understand that there is no light and dark. Magic is completely neutral. We bend and manipulate it to suit are needs. And Godric wishes to limit them to what he calls 'light magic', though he does not see it as a limitation like I do. How can one reach their full potential if they do not have a thorough understanding of the darker aspects of magic? _

_Godric has not yet labeled me dark, but I know that is what he thinks. The mind arts that I have developed work well. The man who has been like a brother to me is gone. Godric has grown stubborn as he ages. When we were young, I believe he would have understood. There is an important lesson he has yet to learn in life, and I fear that he never will._

_There are forces in this world besides those of light and dark. There is the grey. And those who embrace it have the ability to harness and wield the powers that are used by both the light and dark. They can use magic like no other. They are not limited by their prejudices. For they have none. And if they do embrace the grey; there is no limit to what they are capable of. _

_That is what he does not understand. He sees in only black and white. He does not even realize there is a grey area. That is his biggest failure of all._

At that time, Harry was interrupted in his reading. He had sensed the others re-enter the compartment, but had paid them no mind. He was rather absorbed in his grandfather's journal. Apparently Hermione wasn't taking his silence as a hint though.

"Why did you do that Harry?" she asked in a disapproving tone. The frown on her face deepened as Ron, Ginny, and Neville started laughing.

"Why did I do what Hermione?" Harry asked, his eyes never leaving the book. It appeared that Hermione didn't appreciate the lack of attention he gave, for she leaned forward and grabbed the journal from him.

"Why did you do that to Malfoy and the others?" she asked once more, as she looked down at the thousand year old book in her hands.

"What is this?" she asked in confusion as she read the title. Or tried to read it more likely. It was written in Parseltongue, as was the entire book. "What language is this, Harry?"

"First off," Harry said as he took the book out of Hermione's hands. "I don't have to explain my actions to anyone, much less you."

"Secondly," he continued, "this is written in a language that you couldn't possibly understand."

He leaned back into his seat and reopened the large book.

"And another thing," Harry added as an afterthought. "I would advise you not to so rudely take things that don't belong to you, or you will find yourself in a situation similar as Malfoy and his goons."

With that he once more became absorbed in his book. He did not miss though, the shocked and offended look on Hermione's face. Nor the smiles that Neville and Ginny were trying to hide from her. Ron, it seemed, was still trying to figure out what had just happened though.

As the train slowed down in the approach to King's Cross, Harry had never been so eager to leave. He had things that needed to be done, and they weren't getting done on a magical locomotive.

When it finally pulled to a standstill, he lifted Hedwig's cage and dragged his near empty trunk from the train. His magical trunk was still shrunk and hidden in his pocket. His eyes searched the crowd as he neared the ticker inspector, looking for anyone who was watching him too closely.

As they came out the other side of the barrier, he noticed that he had a reception committee.

There was Mad-Eye Moody, who was failing miserably in his attempt to blend in. The traveling cloak and long staff stuck out a bit among the numerous muggles. Next to him was Remus, his face pale, his hair graying, and a long threadbare overcoat covering his muggle clothes. Tonks stood behind them, her neon pink hair sticking out terribly. Harry saw that the twins were there as well, standing next to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, who were greeting Ron and Ginny.

He briefly wondered if any of these people had ever heard of operational security. They were sticking out like a muggleborn at the Malfoys. He scanned the crowd some more, looking for the two whales and horse face. He was more than worried when he didn't find his relatives. Not for their safety of course, but for the fact that his plans centered around returning to Privet Drive.

Taking a breath, he stepped out from behind the crowd of muggles, and walked over to the small group.

"Hello, Harry," said Remus, as Mrs. Weasley gave up in her attempt to reach the young lord and suffocate him with her trademark hug. Harry had purposefully positioned himself on the other side of Ron and Ginny, hoping their sacrifice would save him from crushed ribs.

"Remus," he said, nodding to the werewolf. He raised an eyebrow as he looked around at the others. "Any reason for the welcoming committee?"

"Security," Remus said with a slight smile.

"Security?" Harry asked, raising both eyebrows now. He looked around at the gathered group once more.

"Yes," he said, "I realized how security conscious you were when I noticed Tonk's hair color."

A small smile came to his face as he looked at the young auror. "You blend in nicely, Nymphadora."

His smile grew as the metamorphmagus glared optical death at him. Luckily for Harry, the glare shifted to the twins as they started laughing openly.

"Come on," Remus said as he tried to keep a straight face. He took Harry's trunk and led them out of the station. Harry followed, wondering where exactly they were going.

"I told your aunt that we would be dropping you off at Privet Drive," said Remus, answering his unspoken question. "It's safer this way."

"And how exactly are we getting there?" asked Harry. He didn't see any car that Mundungus could have stolen.

"Knight bus," Remus replied. He then added more seriously, "there's a matter we need to discuss."

As they reached the far corner of the parking lot, Moody flung out his right arm.

BANG

A violently purple, triple-decker had appeared out of thin air in front of them.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus," Stan Shunpike said as he hopped down onto the pavement. He looked around, and his eyes became wide as he saw Harry walk up.

"Ern," he called to the driver. "Look Ern, it's 'Arr -"

Moody and Tonk's both went for their wands as Stan's voice grew louder. Without thinking, Harry raised his hand and snapped his fingers. Stan's voice was abruptly cut off before he could finish saying Harry's name. The young conductor looked around in shock, as did the others, at the wandless silencing charm.

Mentally swearing, Harry shoved fifteen sickles into Stan's hand and climbed onto the bus. He spotted a seat near the back and fell into it.

He hadn't meant to do that. His control over wandless magic had advanced quickly since the night at the Ministry. It was just simple stuff, like the charm he had just done. He didn't want anyone knowing of his ability though. Few had the control or raw power necessary to do it.

Remus sat down in the chair next to him and gave Harry a quizzical look. He didn't say anything though. Moody was sitting at the front of the bus, and Harry knew the magical eye was watching him. Tonks was seated halfway up the aisle, between Moody and the other two. She too gave Harry a quizzical look that he ignored.

"How are you doing, Harry?" Remus asked suddenly.

The question wasn't unexpected, but Harry didn't really feel like sharing his feelings.

"Fine," he replied guardedly. To his surprise, a smile appeared on Remus's face. Harry instantly became cautious; something wasn't right.

"I figured you must be," Remus said in an amused voice. The smile was growing.

Harry's eyes narrowed, his hand slowly moving to his wand. The werewolf knew something.

"So," Remus continued, "mind telling me what you were doing at Gringotts?"

Harry froze just for a millisecond, before he recovered, his face an expressionless mask. But it was too late. Remus had noticed the slight movement.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, Remus," he said as his hand continued moving toward his wand. He wouldn't hesitate to obliviate his former teacher.

"You know exactly what I mean, Harry," Remus replied.

"What were you doing at Gringotts?" he asked once again. Then a puzzled look came across his face. "And how did you leave Hogwarts without Dumbledore finding out?"

Harry studied Remus intently for a long minute; fire blazing in his eyes. Was Remus implying that Dumbledore wasn't aware of his trip? If Dumbledore knew, he would have to change his plans significantly.

"Does the old man know?" he finally asked, dropping the charade.

Remus looked Harry in the eyes for a moment before he replied. "No, Dumbledore doesn't know."

Harry let out a sigh of relief.

"How did you find out?" he asked. He was puzzled as to how Remus would know and not the Headmaster.

"Bill," Remus answered simply.

"He saw me?" Harry asked in surprise. He had forgotten that the oldest Weasley son worked at Gringotts. He would have to use a glamour next time. "And he didn't inform Dumbledore?"

"Right as you were leaving," Remus said, nodding his head. "He thought it would be better if I knew first. Then we could decide what to do."

At Harry's questioning look he continued, "Albus hasn't exactly won over any fans with the way he has treated you. Sirius in particular was getting very angry at his refusal to tell you anything. That, and having you take Occlumency lessons with Snape. A lot of people were confused about his decision to put you two together."

"I'll have to thank Bill," Harry said. He was rather surprised that Dumbledore was facing possible criticism for his actions. Though he doubted if the stubborn Headmaster would change his ways just because a few Order members questioned them.

Nodding at Harry's comment, Remus said, "now I'm rather curious as to what you were doing with Ripthor of the Inheritance Office."

"Why don't you ask him?" Harry replied sarcastically. He didn't want anyone to know about the family rings, though he knew Remus would put two and two together. The werewolf couldn't possibly know about Tenaroe though.

"Oh, Bill tried that already," Remus said knowledgeably, "Ripthor was rather tight lipped about the whole thing though, wouldn't say a word."

Turning to Harry, he asked in genuine interest, "how much did you pay him?"

* * *

**There it is folks. And like I said, I know it's not the greatest chapter, but it has some importantstuff hidden in it.**

**Things will start rolling after this, and action is not far away.**

**If you have any questions or would care to comment, I would be happy to hear them.**

**Please review!**


	7. Breaking Free

**Sorry about the wait; updates may be a bit farther apart from now on.**

**I don't own Harry Potter, nor do I run the presidency from my basement. I'll deny it if you accuse me of either.**

* * *

A shimmering mist of blue vapor was rising from Harry's cauldron as he added the crushed basilisk fang. The potion gave off a hissing sound as the ingredients mixed, and the color turned a dark green. 

Ten days. Ten days since he had returned to Privet Drive. Ten days since he had heard from the glorious Order. Ten days he had been defying their every move. Unknown to them of course.

Did they think a communications blackout was the best approach? Or perhaps Dumbledore thought the emotional boy needed some time alone. You would think, that after telling Harry the prophecy, the Headmaster would try to prepare the boy. Maybe train him for the road ahead.

Or did Dumbledore expect luck to save Harry once again?

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had written to him though. Unfortunately. Their letters contained the usual crap, saying they knew how he felt and that he would be allowed to come to the Burrow soon.

Harry had laughed bitterly at that. Like hell. They couldn't possibly know how he felt. And they thought he needed permission to go somewhere?

He couldn't wait to see the look on their faces when they learned he was Lord Potter, and as such, free from there control. All of their letters ended with the words 'tell Dumbledore if your scar hurts or anything happens.'

Interesting choice of words, was it not?

He knew that it was no coincidence. There was no such thing. Dumbledore would not approach him for fear of angering his so called 'Golden Boy'. He would instead use the Golden Boy's friends to extract information. It was rather pathetic, and somewhat sickening.

The fools. Did they think him that stupid?

Dumbledore had learned from the previous summer though. Two guards were now positioned around the Dursleys' home, were before there had been only one. Perhaps the Mugwump had lost faith in his birds. Or maybe he was just getting smarter.

Harry briefly wondered how many laws the old coot was breaking by having him watched continuously. He doubted if legalities would stop Albus Dumbledore though; they never had before. And he wasn't naive enough to think they were there just for his own protection. They were there to watch him as much as they were to keep him safe.

Or controlled, more likely.

Harry had the feeling that if he were to take a stroll outside, his guards would stop him. Once more for his own protection. They no doubt thought him a defenseless child, and who knows what kinds of nasty creatures wonder Little Whinging in the broad of daylight.

The guards had not prevented him from carrying out his plans though. In the short while he had been at number 4, he had apparated to Diagon Alley more than once. There were potions ingredients he had needed, as well as a new wardrobe. A lord twice over could not dress below his position now, could he?

A second wand had also been among his purchases. As being disarmed would hamper his fighting ability some what. Made of yew, with a dragon heartstring core, he had bought it from an obscure wand maker located deep in Knockturn Alley. The initial reaction hadn't been as strong as with his Ollivander wand, but he wasn't naturally ambidextrous either. It was rather odd, performing magic with his left hand. Slytherin had written about dueling with two wands in his journals, and hard practicing over the last ten days had made it easier.

He had learned from the mistakes of his previous excursion though. A Parsel glamour charm ensured that none saw him as the Boy Who Lived when he ventured to Diagon Alley.

The problem of the guards was rather simple. All he had to do was figure out the rotation.

Tonks and Mundungus were the easiest to fool. Harry could have turned the Dursleys into dairy cows, set them loose to graze in the front yard, and then herd them back into the house an hour later. And the old crook would still be muttering about the price of black market dragon hide.

Dairy Cows? That wasn't a bad idea. Tonks was a little harder, but a simple illusion charm would convince her that he was still there.

He couldn't risk going on Kingsley and Mad-Eye though. The illusion might fool Kingsley for a while, but the Auror would catch on soon enough. Mad-Eye could simply look through the wall and notice his magical aura. Or lack there of in that instance. The paranoid ex-Auror was nearly in a league of his own, and it wasn't just because of his eye.

Best to be safe and not risk discovery. He didn't want anyone knowing he could apparate.

His potion was now a forest green; meaning it was ready for the last ingredient. Taking a small knife from the desk beside him, he pricked the end of his finger, and held it over the cauldron. Seven drops of blood fell into the potion; turning it a pure silver.

Harry smiled at the reaction. It was just as it was supposed to look, or at least how the instructions had described it to be. Altogether, it had been the hardest potion he had yet to make. Even more so than the Veritaserum he had brewed the week before.

Useful stuff, Veritaserum.

To be precise though,thiswasn't really a potion. Once he had added the blood it officially became a ritual, and was hence illegal. The ministry was rather absurd when it came to rules and regulations. Anything involving blood as an ingredient was deemed 'dark,' by there so called experts. It was the same paranoia they had with the Dark Arts. Since the politicians weren't powerful enough to use the them, they forbid everyone else from doing so.

With their bias notions and idiotic leaders, it was rather surprising that wizards had lasted this long.

He had long been puzzled by his variance in magical aptitude. It seemed odd that he could cast a corporeal Patronus at thirteen, yet it had taken the threat of a dragon for him to learn a simple summoning charm. Until recently, when Remus told him of the block that was placed on him as a infant.

While not common, blocks, are not exactly unheard of either. It is just rare when one is needed, as they are only placed upon the most powerful of children. Those with abnormally high magical levels.

Infants are often unable to control these high levels, and can wandlessly release the power through strong emotions. Such wandless outbursts can cause harm to a young child, possibly resulting in lasting damage.

It is for that reason, that parents will place a block on their child. The block is generally removed by the parents when the child is capable of controlling their excess power. For obvious reasons though, Harry's block was never removed. That restricted the amount of power he could tap into, and hence, hampered his magical maturation.

The ritual that he was undertaking would remove said block; without the need of those who placed it.

He filled a glass with the forest green concoction, and quickly downed the contents. The flavor was unlike that of any potion he had ever taken. The coppery taste of blood, combined with the venomous taste of the basilisk fang and other obscure ingredients, gave it an explosive punch.

Or perhaps that was the magic that was flowing through him.

He could feel it rushing through his veins, as if a door had been opened and magic was flowing out. The power was intoxicating; filling his entire body. And for the second time in recent weeks, he blacked out.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore was in a predicament. The Order meeting had drawn to a close, and the members were leaving Grimmauld Place. As the room cleared though, he saw three young faces that didn't belong to Order members. 

Molly had protested fiercely at his decision to allow Ron, Hermione, and Ginny to sit in when they discussed the predicament. Albus had been able to convince her in the end though. After all, they were the ones who new the predicament best. At least that's what everyone thought.

'Write to Harry,' his words to the children had been.'Get him to open up.' He needed to know what the boy was up to, what he was thinking. So the children would write, and in turn, share the letters Harry wrote back.

He had been surprised, and even somewhat disturbed, at how easy it had been to get them to read the confidential letters Harry wrote. He quickly pushed those thoughts aside though. Hermione and Ginny had agreed with Albus, saying it was best for Harry. Young Ronald had agreed as well when he found out they would sit in on the meetings when Harry was discussed.

It had all seemed so simple. The boy trusted his friends with everything. It had failed miserably.

Harry had written one letter in return. It had stated, in no uncertain terms, to kindly leave him the hell alone. Albus, who wasn't going to risk angering the teen by writing himself, had the children try once more. The letters had returned shortly after being sent. The boy hadn't even bothered opening them this time.

That's where the predicament occurred. Albus had set up a ward around Privet Drive, that would block any owls trying to get through. The letters were redirected to his office, so in affect, he was screening Harry's mail. He had no qualms about it, as he was doing it for the boy's protection.

The problem was, there weren't any letters redirected to his office. He had opened the ward so the children's letters could get through of course, but there hadn't been any others. That was what was bothering him.

He knew that Harry was one of the main benefactors in Sirius' will; he had gotten that much out of the blasted goblins. As such, they should have sent a letter telling him of the will reading. No such letter had been redirected to his office though. He had checked the ward to make sure it was functioning properly, and it was. But still no letter.

Did that mean the goblins hadn't sent one? Had Harry somehow gotten the letter clandestinely?

He knew from the reports the guards made, that the boy hadn't leftnumber 4all summer. In fact, he had barely left his room except to eat and use the bathroom. So if he did know of the will reading, how had he learned of it?

Albus was willing to admit that he had no plans of letting the boy attend the reading. It was out of the question. Sirius had been at odds with him ever since he decided to have Severus teach Harry Occlumency. He knew the decision hadn't been popular, but it had been necessary at the time. He had butted heads several times with the former Marauder over the way he handled Harry.

It was because of their disagreements, that he wouldn't let Harry go to the will reading. He feared what might happen. Sirius had no doubt left Harry something, and that was what scared him. If Harry where to gain ownership of Grimmauld Place, he could kick the Order out if he wanted to. If Sirius made Harry heir to the House of Black though, Albus couldn't possibly control the boy.

Not that he realized he had lost all control already. It hadn't even occurred to him that Harry could have taken matters into his own hands. He had always taken the boy's loyalty for granted.

No, it would be best if Harry didn't know anything. After all, the boy had just lost his godfather. The wound was still fresh, and he couldn't add more grief to a morning boy's shoulders. He would speak to the consultant about the boy's financial status after the will reading. And just in case, he would send Alastor and Kingsley to watch Privet Drive. That way, if the boy did know of the reading, they would be able to stop him. He couldn't have Harry wondering out in the open at a time like this. It was for his own protection.

* * *

Harry Potter, was not interested in his own protection. At the time, he was gripping his wand in concentration, trying to visualize the effects of the spells he was about to cast. He could see the outcome clearly in his mind; the two spells combining to make one. He chanted the words in his head over and over again, and waved his wand in a complicated pattern. 

Opening his eyes, he smiled at the outcome. Sitting on the floor before him were two small kittens. He studied them closely, looking for any oddities. The solid brown coat of fur, the gold yellow eyes. Nope, no imperfections. Waving his wand again, the kittens vanished.

A conjuring and duplicating spell were simple enough, but it had proved most difficult combining the two.

He had found it in one of Slytherin's journals. The ancient snake had written a series of volumes on magical theory, and many of his ideas were unheard of today. Even Voldemort didn't know of the concept he was trying.

The majority of Slytherin's work was directed towards Spell Formation. He had developed more than just the Dark Arts and Parsel Magic though. In particular, the idea of combining more than one spell had appealed to him.

Multi-Casting, he had called it. The art of combining several spells and casting them all at once. No voiced incantation was required. Instead, one had to visualize the outcome of the spells. That was were the difficulty occurred. Harry had to completely clear his mind, and visualize the effects of a conjuring and duplicating spell combined.

A large amount of power was also required. If he hadn't removed the block that was on his magic, he probably wouldn't have been able to do it.

Altogether, it was rather tiring business. The multiple kittens had been difficult enough, he didn't want to imagine how hard it would be to combine the Unforgivables. Though he had improved considerably since he arrived at number 4. The first time he tried he couldn't even conjure two match sticks.

The idea had appealed to him as a way of dispatching several opponents at once. Being able to fire multiple curses at one time would be beneficial, to say the least.

As well as a nasty surprise to whoever was unfortunate enough to be on the recieving end.

The day of the will reading had arrived, and the Orderstill hadnot contacted him. He wouldn't be surprised if Dumbledore was intercepting his mail, but wouldn't the Mugwump notice the absence of an invitation? Surely that was what the old coot was looking for. Maybe Dumbledore would play the wait and see, praying that Harry didn't know of the reading.

The Headmaster would be between a rock and a hard place when Harry showed up though. The old man didn't have the power or legality to defend or enforce his actions. He would simply hope to keep Harry ignorant.

Taking a look at his repaired clock, he saw that it was a little after nine o'clock in the mourning. He would have to leave soon were he to get there before anyone else. And no doubt Dumbledore told the guards to restrain him if he tried leaving. For his own protection of course.

Sighing wearily at he Headmaster's antics, he got dressed for the day ahead. And he dressed as a rightful Lord should.

The robe he chose was of Acromantula silk; the finest available at Madam Malkins. It was a simple black, but the emerald trim brought out the color of his eyes. He wore dark grey pants and a black dress shirt beneath it. The boots had been specially tailored; made from the excess basilisk hide he had. They were the same grey as his pants, and soundless when he walked. They had been quite expensive, but the final product was well worth it.

He put on the Potter family ring as well, not bothering to hide the fact he was the head of his house. He had a feeling he would need the legalities of Lord Potter before the day was over. The Tenaroe ring was his wild card though. It would remain a secret for as long as possible.

He strapped a wand holster to each forearm, his original wand on his left, the yew wand on his right. All he had to do was bring his right hand to the opposite forearm, and he would have his holly wand in hand. The sleeves of his robe flared slightly at the end, so as not to hamper the speed and ease of his draw.

He had to admit, as he inspected himself in the mirror, that he looked pretty good. His hair was as messy as ever, but he had grown during his short stay at Privet Drive. Removing the block on his power probably had something to do with it. He was taller than before; his body lean but muscled.

His eyes had changed the most though. They were the same piercing green, but there was a hardness that hadn't been there before. The combined effect was. . . . . unnatural. And the dark clothes suited him well. They added to the allure of power and mystery that radiated from him.

It reminded him of Dumbledore, though his aura was somewhat darker than he remembered the Headmaster's to be. Despite the unwanted comparison, he couldn't help but smile. They were in for a big surprise if they suspected him a depressed teen.

With a wave of his wand he shrank his trunk and placed it in his pocket. If all went according to plan he wouldn't be returning to Privet Drive ever again. Though he had to admit, as he looked out his window, things rarely went according to plan around him.

Ah, he thought to himself, it seems Dumbledore has increased the security.

He could sense Mad-Eye and Kingsley standing guard outside number 4. That was unusual as today it was supposed to be Tonks and Mundungus. Mundungus was still there, but not Tonks. Apparently Dumbledore had allowed the metamorphmagus to go to the will reading.

How considerate of him.

Three guards instead of the usual two. The Mugwump really was trying to keep him ignorant. Soon Dumbledore would be locking him in a padded cell. For his own protection of course. He was afraid he couldn't oblige the old man though.

Taking his watch out of his pocket, he pointed his wand at it and muttered, "_Portus_." The watch glowed blue and shook noisily for a few seconds, then became still once more. Holding it in his hand, he activated it, and smiled as he felt the sensation of a hook being jerked behind his navel.

Dumbledore wasn't the only one who could change the rules. It was their fault if they underestimated him.

* * *

He felt his feet hit solid ground as he arrived in the alley next to Gringotts. Using a Portkey definitely wasn't his favorite method of travel, but he didn't want anyone knowing he could apparate yet. 

Pocketing his watch, he headed out of the alley and swiftly walked up to the silver doors. His guards would have noticed the burst of light that accompanies a Portkey; which meant Dumbledore would soon know he left his cage.

He walked across the lobby, his eyes searching for any Order member who might have been posted as a sentry. He didn't recognize anyone; nor did he see the tell tale signs of a clumsy metamorphmagus. Coming to the corridor near the Inheritance Office, he glanced at the clock on the wall. It was shortly after nine thirty.

So far, so good, he thought to himself. Dumbledore was either thoughtless or overconfident. Harry would take either one.

He walked down the carpeted hall until he came to Conference Room 7. Showing his invitation to the goblin standing outside, he was let in without a word. He was more than a little surprised that he was allowed to enter the room early, but then recalled how the goblin's eyes had widened slightly upon seeing the Potter family ring.

Rather advantageous, Harry thought as he looked down at the signet. He wondered what else he could get by flashing the ruby lion.

The doors closed behind him, and he looked around the room. It was of medium size, with a circle of chairs set in the middle. On the far side was another door, which he assumed led to an anti-chamber of sorts.

He was pleased to see that he was the first one there. That would make things much easier. By now, Dumbledore would have started the search, and the old coot would only need one guess to figure out where Harry went. He would soon be on his way.

What joy!

He leaned back against the wall, positioned so he would initially go unnoticed when the others walked in. He twirled his holly wand between his fingers absentmindedly, waiting for the Bird Club to arrive. It was a habit he had picked up from Voldemort's memories. And, despite its origins, he had found it oddly relaxing.

It was nearly ten o'clock, when he heard the first voices. And true to form, hurried footsteps accompanied them. They were getting close.

He could hear the disgruntled voice of a goblin, followed by several indignant splutters. It seems they were not going to be let in early. Harry would have to thank the goblin later. The yelling lowered to a persistent muttering, and he could begin to discern some of the voices.

The goblins didn't seem to like Dumbledore very much, he noted. He would have to remember that. Right as the clock struck ten, the doors to the Conference Room burst open. Dumbledore had a thing for the dramatics, did he not?

The Headmaster charged in first, quickly followed by Mad-Eye, Kingsley, Tonks, and surprisingly enough, Snape. Though the Potions Master walked in much slower than the others. They looked around the room wildly, only to see it completely empty. They didn't see Harry, who was hidden by the door. It had been pushed open once more, and another group walked in.

Remus was the first to enter, looking slightly amused at the situation. He was followed by an elegant looking woman who Harry didn't recognize, and what appeared to be the whole Weasley clan, minus the three oldest sons. Hermione was with them as well.

The elegant women simply looked at Remus and raised a eyebrow questioningly at the rising chatter and panicked murmurs. The werewolf shrugged, and took a seat, trying hard not to smile. The volume rose as the Weasley's joined the ruckus taking place in the center of the room.

"Enough," Dumbledore finally said, he voice rising above the others. This seemed to quiet them down though, and the muttering stopped.

"Where's Harry?" Mrs. Weasley asked frantically, wringing her hands. Standing next to her, Hermione seemed to be in a similar state of panic.

"Now Molly, I'm sure that Harry is completely fine," Dumbledore assured her. Turning to Mad-Eye, he asked the grizzled ex-Auror, "what exactly happened, Alastor?"

"I told you Albus," Moody said as he took a swig from his hip flask. "Potter was standing there, looking out his window. Then he turned his watch into a Portkey and disappeared."

"Impossible," Snape sneered. "Potter couldn't make a Portkey if his life depended on it."

"Are you calling be a liar, Snape?" Moody growled as he rounded on the spy. "I tell you, the boy created a Portkey and left. That's the last I saw of him."

"How would Harry know how to create a Portkey, though?" Hermione's shrill voice asked. "That's advanced magic."

Harry rolled his eyes. Only Hermione would think of the academics involved at a time like this. The girl really should have been a Ravenclaw.

Dumbledore sighed wearily as the chatter rose once again. Holding up his hand, he silenced the crowd once more. Harry was actually surprised Dumbledore hadn't sensed him yet. He had concealed his aura as best he could, but he hadn't been sure it would fool the Headmaster.

"I don't know where Harry learned to make a Portkey, but that's not what is important," the old man said. "For now, we must concentrate on finding him. We can't have him galloping off unprotected."

Anger blazed in Harry's eyes as he heard this. Galloping off, was he? Did the old fart think him a stupid, powerless child?

Silencing the chatters once more, Dumbledore continued, "Harry must be returned to Privet Drive. It is the only place that is safe for him."

Harry jaw almost dropped open this time. Safe? Did Dumbledore consider being attacked by Dementors safe?

"We must find him immediately," the old man finished with conviction.

It was more than Harry could take. With a wave of his hand, the heavy doors banged shut, violently. Everyone in the room, including Dumbledore, jumped at the noise.

"That shouldn't be too hard," Harry said in a cold voice. He was still leaning against the wall, casually twirling his wand like a baton. Fury was evident in his cold, green eyes.

* * *

**There she is folks.**

**Lady Azar de Tameran: Lily was not a serpent tongue, as I like to call it. Only the males of the Tenaroe lined are blessed with the snakish gift. And as for Remus, he will be more help than hindrance. Though I'm not sure how much.**

**illusion0910: as of now, I'm leaning towards 'no pairing' for Harry. I could always change my mind of course, but if there is a ship, it won't be a major part of the story.**

**Thanks for the reviews. If you have any questions or comments, I would love to hear them.**

**Next Chapter: The House of Black**

**Please Review, oryour not coming to my birthday party!**


	8. The House of Black

**I don't own Harry Potter, and I'll deny any accusations you make. Then I will hunt you down, and maybe do something that might possibly be unpleasant. Perhaps.**

* * *

The reaction was rather comical, and if the situation was not so serious, Harry would have burst with laughter. The Weasleys gasped. Hermione gasped. Remus grinned. Snape sneered. Mad-Eye, Tonks, and Kingsley froze. 

The look on Dumbledore's face was the best though. It practically screamed, 'Oh shit'.

You have no idea, old man, Harry thought to himself.

"Harry!" several voices shrieked.

A number of them rushed forward all at once, trying to be the first to reach him. They were conveniently cut off though, by the elegant looking woman Harry didn't recognize.

"Mr. Potter, I presume," the woman said. She was middle-aged, with black hair, and brown eyes. "I am Mariah Baddock, Mr. Blacks solicitor."

"A pleasure to meet you," Harry said as he shook the hand that was offered. He was still twirling his wand between his fingers, wordlessly telling them he would use it if need be.

"Likewise, Mr. Potter. I'm rather relieved that you are here. Mr. Black stressed the importance of you attending today," Mariah said. "I will need to speak with you privately after the general reading, if that's all right?"

From the corner of his eye, Harry could see Dumbledore listening intently. The Headmaster's eyes had narrowed somewhat at the word 'privately,' and Harry could practically hear the gears turning in the old man's head.

"Of course," Harry said as he smirked inwardly. He could understand the reasoning behind it.

She wanted to speak with him away from the prying ears of Dumbledore. Like many solicitors, Mariah Baddock was of a neutral family. And like many neutral families, the Baddocks had a strong dislike for the Headmaster. The old man had thrown his weight around once too often.

As he was trying to do now, Harry thought darkly, as Dumbledore approached. The old man was looking at him with an expression Harry didn't recognize.

He was saved the pain of a headache once again though, as another person arrived. From the shocked look on Tonks' face, and the disgusted looks coming from the Weasleys, he could guess who it was.

Turning around though, he was surprised to find not only Draco Malfoy, but his mother as well. She was a tall, blond woman, with the same beautiful features that all the Blacks had. There was currently a small smile on her face at the reaction their arrival had caused.

Her son though, did not seem amused. No, the sneer was obvious on his pointed face as he glared at Harry. Ignoring the pampered brat, Harry addressed Sirius' cousin.

"Mrs. Malfoy," he greeted her neutrally, to the surprise of the others. What surprised him though, was the absence of patented Malfoy sneer on her face.

"Mr. Potter," she replied. Inclining her head slightly, she walked over to Mariah Baddock, completely ignoring Dumbledore and the others. Harry and Draco were left alone by the door.

"Potter," Draco sneered in a fashion similar to Snape. Harry had never seen so much hatred in the ferret's eyes.

"Draco!" Harry said exuberantly, acting as though he had just noticed the Malfoy heir. The pale boy did not seem to appreciate Harry's greeting though. The look of disgust on his face grew.

Their eyes locked, and Harry was suddenly struck with an idea. Slowly and subtlety, he entered the blond boy's mind.

A horde of images flashed across his eyes as he went through Malfoy's memories. Ignoring them, he searched farther, looking for anything regarding Bellatrix Lestrange. If Draco was so eager to follow his father's path, he would no doubt be in contact with his psychotic aunt.

And there it was. . . .

The images slowed, and the wasted face of Bellatrix appeared. He caught brief tidbits of conversation, before searching farther. He saw Bellatrix at the Malfoy Manor, meeting with the house elf Kreacher.

More images came. Flashes of Voldemort, the Dark Mark, and a place in Knockturn Alley. He slowed down, studying the decrepit building. An address flashed before him, written on a piece of parchment. He saw the blond boy enter the building, meeting with his aunt and several other Death Eater recruits.

Bingo, Harry thought. He quickly withdrew from Malfoy's mind, leaving the blond boy to look around in confusement. His grey eyes were slightly dazed.

Harry snorted. If Malfoy was the Death Eater of tomorrow, Voldemort was doomed.

* * *

The general reading went rather smoothly, as Dumbledore had the sense not to cause a scene. Smoothly, that is, if Harry were to ignore the constant looks everyone kept giving him. 

Well, not everyone looked. Snape and Malfoy flat out glared, and made no point to hide it. Ron, Ginny, and Hermione kept shooting glances at him, failing in their attempts to be discreet. Remus smiled and patted him on the shoulder, while Tonks and her Aunt Narcissa were engaged in conversation. The twins just grinned and waved at Harry, seemingly amused with the whole situation.

He didn't even bother looking at Dumbledore. He could already feel the headache coming on.

Each of the lesser beneficiaries had been left with a moderate sum of money. The lesser beneficiaries being Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Tonks, Narcissa, and surprisingly, the twins. They had each received a healthy amount of gold, whereas, Ron and Ginny had been included under their parents.

Predictably, Ron shot a jealous and slightly angry look at Fred and George, as if it was their fault they had been left separate sums.

Remus had been left a considerably larger amount, unfortunately for Dumbledore though, he was not left with Grimmauld Place. Sirius hadwritten that a room would be available to the werewolf at all times, and that the new owner would have no problems with it. The Headmaster had paled slightly when he realized his headquarters would be in unknown hands.

Or perhaps worse for him, Harry's hands.

They would find out soon enough, as Mariah Baddock finished reading the general will. To add drama to the whole thing though, the doors opened at that time, and Ripthor walked in. Several murmurs broke out as the goblin walked over to them. A few though, like Dumbledore, realized the significance of it. Ripthor was the head of the Inheritance Office.

The Headmaster paled even more when he noticed the box Ripthor was carrying. It was small, and intricately carved. On the top was the shield of the House of Black.

Dumbledore wasn't the only one who noticed the box. A smug look spread across Malfoy's face when his eyes fell upon the Black shield.

Did the git seriously think the ring would soon reside on his finger?

Ripthor stopped near Mariah, and quietly spoke with her for a few minutes. Nodding his head, he walked over to the anti-chamber, and opened the doors.

A feeling of anxiety had come over Harry as he had watched the conversation. He could feel it coming. Whatever was to happen, would happen soon. He put his hand in his pocket, clandestinely slipping the Potter ring onto his finger. He had a feeling he would need it shortly.

And he was right.

"Mr. Potter," Mariah said, getting his attention. Harry noticed he wasn't the only one. Several people got up as if on cue. "If you could come with me," the solicitor continued.

Glancing at Malfoy, Harry could barely repress a smirk at the disbelieving look on the ferret's face. The idiot.

Following the solicitor to the anti-chamber, he ignored the several people that tried to approach him. As he passed Dumbledore though, the old man spoke up.

"Harry," the Headmaster started. "I'm afraid you must return to Privet Drive. It is safe there."

Squashing the anger that boiled within him, Harry raised an eyebrow, and turned his icy gaze to the Mugwump.

"And I'm afraid your mistaken Headmaster," he said calmly. The steel in his voice was evident though. "Never again will I step foot in that house."

Everyone, including Dumbledore, appeared shocked at his words. It had never crossed their minds that he could be defiant. He usually just gave in.

"Harry, it is for your own safety," the old man persisted.

"Safety?" Harry said with a bitter laugh. "Do you consider being attacked by Dementors safe, Headmaster?"

"The blood wards will protect you," Dumbledore said, ignoring Harry's question.

"Protect me? Professor, if you were so confidant in your wards, you would not have two guards standing outside the Dursleys at all times.

"I trust you have not forgotten the ingredient that was taken from me?" he asked, referring to the blood Voldemort used for his rebirth.

Several of the people looked confused at his words. Dumbledore, though, understood what he meant immediately.

"No, Harry," the Headmaster said. "I have not forgotten."

"Good," Harry said, nodding his head. "Then you realize the wards are useless, and in effect, Privet Drive is not safe."

That said, he turned his back on the stunned crowd once more, and headed for the anti-chamber. It appeared that Dumbledore was not finished though.

"Harry, this is not the time to be rebellious."

"Rebellious?" Harry said incredulously, as he turned to face the old man. Fire burned in his emerald eyes.

"You dare call me rebellious?" he asked, his voice as hard as steel. Snape and some of the others stepped back, sensing the magical discharge coming from him.

"You have pushed me into a corner Dumbledore, and in the interests of self preservation, I have pushed out the only way I can."

"Harry, we are only trying to protect - "

"Bullshit," Harry said, effectively cutting the old man off. "If you wished to protect me, you wouldn't have left me on the Dursleys' doorstep in the first place."

"Now, Harry," the old coot began.

"Harry?" he said, cutting Dumbledore off once more. "Come now Headmaster, you spent all of last year being so formal, I see no reason to change."

It was rather funny, seeing the stunned look on the faces of the Order members, as Harry reprimanded their leader. He would need to purchase a pensieve.

"I am aware of the mistakes that were made, Harry - "

"Did you not hear what I just said?" Harry asked, cutting Dumbledore off for a third time. Snape looked like he was about to explode at Harry's blatant lack of respect toward the Headmaster.

"Of course," Harry continued, as he rubbed his chin absentmindedly. "If you are incapable of calling me Mr. Potter, I answer to Lord Potter as well."

The significance of the gesture was not lost on Dumbledore, whose eyes widened at the sight of the Potter ring on Harry's finger. The others had similar looks of shock and surprise on their faces. All except Remus, who already knew that Harry was Lord Potter. The werewolf was smiling slightly at the expressions his comrades were sporting.

Yes, a pensieve was definitely in need.

Spinning on his heel, Harry entered the anti-chamber, leaving the Bird Club behind him.

* * *

The ring fitting went as smoothly as the others Harry had experienced. Of course, that may have had something to do with thenumerous wards and locks Harry put on the door. He didn't want Dumbledore interrupting the ceremony. Though at the time, the Headmaster was probably trying to figure out how Harry became Lord Potter. 

The Black ring, like that of Tenaroe, was made of silver. In the center was a regal dragon, its wings spread in flight. The dragon was engraved from a black diamond, minuscule rubies set for the eyes.

The ring had emitted a darker glow than the Tenaroe ring, showing that Harry was not a hereditary Black. A reassuring warmth had spread through him though, as it recognized him as Sirius' heir.

With the title Lord of Black, came the ownership of Grimmauld Place, and the Black Ancestral vault. There were a few other residences scattered here and there, but he didn't read into those.

Grimmauld Place was the prize. If the Mugwump wished to keep his headquarters, he better not try pulling anything. The consequences would be dire if Harry found the old coot meddling in things that ought not be meddled in. Which meant, that the Headmaster best keep his noise out of Harry's business. Though, Harry new that wouldn't happen. Dumbledore would start snooping around before the day was over, trying to learn exactly what Harry had at his disposal.

Thanking Mariah, he discreetly slipped another bag of gold to Ripthor. He doubted if Dumbledore would get anywhere with the goblins, but it didn't hurt to give them an extra incentive to keep quiet.

He walked back into the Conference Room, carrying a large deed book in his left hand. The Potter and Black rings were on their respected fingers, and his wand was in his right pocket, inches away from his hand.

There was nothing wrong with being cautious.

Ignoring the others, he walked over to Remus and spoke quietly with the werewolf. He could see Dumbledore and several others watching him intently from the corner of his eye. Dumbledore's gaze went from Harry, to the rings on his finger, to the deed book in his hand.

He knew that's what the old man would be after. A complete list of the Black and Potter fortunes, detailing everything that was related to the respected family's financial empire.

Tightening his grip on the large book, Harry shifted his body, so the deed book was out of sight from where Dumbledore was standing. He wouldn't put it past the Headmaster to flat out steal it.

The old man would go to great lengths in order to keep a leash on his Golden Boy. As he would soon discover though, that leash was broken beyond repair.

Saying goodbye to Remus, Harry walked out, ignoring the calls from Dumbledore.

* * *

The basilisk hide boots made no sound as Harry walked through the halls of number 12 Grimmauld Place. He had just arrived from Gringotts, and the house was completely empty. Empty that is, except for him, a hippogriff, and a traitorous house elf that would soon bejoining the dead. 

He only had to find the little shit.

His hands were clasped behind his back, his mind lost deep in thought. He had blocked the Floo, sealed the doors, and set up an anti-apparition ward to ensure he wouldn't be disturbed. Remus was the only one who would be able to get in.

Fortunately, the Weasleys had not yet arrived for the summer. That would save him the trouble of kicking them out. He didn't want anyone living here besides Remus, and an assembly of Weasleys would definitely put a hamper to his plans.

Sirius had hated it here, yet he had left it in Harry's possession. Even in death, his godfather had given Harry the home he once promised. Sirius had hated it, yes, but Harry would turn it into something he would have loved.

That reminded him, he had to contact Dobby.

He wondered through the house absentmindedly, his feet eventually leading him to the drawing room. The tapestry still hung on the far wall, the gold thread shining brightly despite old age and poor condition. He walked over to it, examining the bottom row as he did. Malfoy's name was still there, a single gold line connecting him to his parents above. There was another name stitched just as low, though.

He froze as he studied it closely, his eyes filling with shock. After a while though, a smirk slowly spread across his face. For there at the bottom, was the name:

**Harry James Evans Black Potter**

Gold thread connected him to where Sirius' name had once been. Unlike the others though, his was made of three vertical lines, showing him to be an appointed Lord. The heir to the last of the Blacks.

It was rather fitting, was it not?

Harry briefly thought of ripping the tapestry of the wall, and showing it to the old hag that hung in the entrance hall. It was, no doubt, the ultimate irony. She yelled and spit about blood traitors, half-breeds, abominations, and 'stains of dishonor.' Her family had openly supported Lord Voldemort, and now the head of her house was the one who defeated said Dark Lord.

She had done everything she could to exile her oldest son. And yet, he had gotten the last laugh. He had destroyed all the efforts she had made. All the pure-blood mania, the belief of the eradication of muggles, the thought that Blacks were above all others. Sirius had destroyed it all with one move.

Fitting, indeed.

Searching the tree closely, his blood turned cold as he found Bellatrix Lestrange.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there, staring at the name. He felt something rise inside of him though. It was a feeling of darkness, a feeling of intense savagery. For the first time that he could remember, he wanted to kill.

To hold her life in his hand, and crush it.

He wanted to make her suffer for what she did. For killing her cousin. For killing his godfather. For making him an orphan once again. He wanted her to feel what it was like to be alone, unwanted, and unloved. He wanted her to feel the pain that he had carried all of his life.

And then, he wanted her to die.

"I promise Sirius, on all that I am, that I will avenge you. I will kill her, and the snake that is her master," Harry said in a cold voice.

Only the words weren't spoken in English. He spoke them in an ancient language long forgotten. The language of the Druids.

Voldemort was one of the few people alive who knew the language, and because of that, Harry knew it as well. His body glowed slightly, and the air cackled with power, as his magic accepted the Druidic words.

Unbeknownst to him, the sky above number 12 crackled with magic as well. The bright, afternoon sun faded, and clouds of blue and black power took its place. Lighting flashed across the sky, followed by booming thunder. The air sizzled with electricity, before fading once more. The whole thing happened in the span of a few seconds, and the sky returned to normal.

Harry James Evans Black Potter, Lord of Potter, Lord of Black, Lord of Tenaroe, would have his revenge. And then, he would bring about the changes that were needed. He would use his wealth, power, and fame if need be. And neither Dumbledore nor Voldemort would stand in his way.

An oath of vengeance had been taken. They wouldn't know what hit them.

* * *

**Well, there it is. I try, I really do.**

**Kranaa: I hope this answered your question about Remus. Yes, Harry told him about Lord Potter. Though, the werewolf was smart enough to figure it out on his own.**

**C'mon: I am unsure as to how Severus Snape will react. Though I doubt if Harry's new power will change the way Snape sees him. The man is too angry and bitter to see Harry as anything besides James Potter's son.**

**Wavefuntion: I hope this chapter answered your question concerning Grimmauld Place. As for Tonks and Moody? Not sure. Though I do like them both. All I will say about multi-casting, is that it will be incredibly important.**

**Iwas readinga Harry Potter fic called 'The Half Blooded Prince'. I am pretty sure it was an Action/Adventure, and there was a character in it called James Kroeger. The problem is I can no longer find the story. If anyone could tell me the author of the story I am talking about, or what happened to the story, I would be very grateful.**

**Next chapter: The Return of Tenaroe**

**Please review.**


	9. The Return of Tenaroe

**I don't own Harry Potter. If you haven't figured that out by now, you're beyond hopeless.**

* * *

Grey clouds cast Diagon Alley in a partial gloom as Harry wove through the crowds. His movements were precise yet graceful, and he easily avoided the influx of late afternoon shoppers. The threat of rain would not hamper his actions, and mere atmospheric patterns would not ruin his day. He couldn't help but smile at how successful his early plans had been. 

The wheels were in motion, and soon, nothing would be able to stop them.

Three days had passed since the reading of the will. Surprisingly, they had passed in silence. Dumbledore had yet to make a move, and Harry wasn't going to indulge the old man. He didn't have to explain his actions to anyone, especially an Order of jumped up magical vigilantes. Let them realize the price of their negligence.

He was theirs' no longer.

His schemes were beginning to take form, and the culmination of his next step would arrive shortly. Transition loomed ahead for the wizarding world, and it would soon be irreversible. The moves that were made tonight would be just the beginning, and tomorrow would mark the start of a new way of things.

The smell of change hung in the air, and the wind would carry it far. Was he the only one who saw it? Or was he the only one who looked?

Dumbledore was too blind to see it coming, Harry knew that. The old man had his opponent right in front of him, he would never dream that another could come from behind. Voldemort didn't even consider Harry a threat, and wouldn't waste time thinking of the problems a sixteen year old could present.

Their blindness would be their downfall.

The Lord of the Light and the Lord of the Dark had spent too much time fighting each other. They had becomeignorant to the world around them. They failed to see the damage their war had inflicted. Voldemort had lost sight of his goal. In his bid for domination, he had become engrossed in revenge and hate. He was too traumatized by his past, to accurately plan for the future.

Had Dumbledore ever had a plan?

All the old man sought was the preservation of the ways of old. He had no desire to witness change. He had no interest in fixing the corruptness that had crippled the ministry. He fought for the Dark Lord's destruction, and in doing so, had committed nearly as many crimes as Voldemort.

What Dumbledore had yet to learn, is that the end doesn't always justify the means. Harry would do what was necessary in order to achieve his goals, but not to the point of betraying his beliefs and ideals. Dumbledore believed too heavily in his so called 'greater good'.

The Headmaster had sacrificed the childhood of an orphaned boy, for the future safety of the people. People who would later betray that orphaned boy. They had always been quick to accuse Harry when suspicion arose. Quick to turn on him when given the slightest reason.

Did committing these atrocities in the name of the light make them acceptable? Dumbledore obviously thought so.

Harry would not do an old man's bidding though. Let Voldemort and Dumbledore continue their endless squabble. He would slip by unnoticed in their ignorance. They would not see the signs, for they would not think to look.

A new wolf had risen from among the sheep, and he answered to no one. Especially a senile old coot who had directed his life like a symphony.

Coming to the intersection where light met dark, he turned gracefully, and walked up the cobbled street.

The shadowy depths of Knockturn Alley welcomed Harry as he entered the gloomy district. He pulled his hood up as he did, hoping that the darkening sky would aid him in his bid to go unnoticed. It helped, that none would expect the Boy Who Lived to venture into such dark places.

Making his way through the narrow streets, he kept an eye out for any Order member that might be stationed. Hopefully, Dumbledore would not endanger his mutts by sending them to such an unfavorable place. That would draw their eyes away from the Alley, and he would slip in and out before they heard the news.

With any luck.

The numerous shops and vendors that he passed were stocked with illegal items, most of them being dark in nature. Poisonous candles and blood stained books were a sharp contrast to the broomsticks and ice cream sold in Diagon Alley. A contrast he wouldn't mind exploring further, but unfortunately, he had a date tonight.

Walking past a filthy stall, he recognized what appeared to be a human skull. It was carved so it could be used as a drinking cup.

Nice craftsmanship, he thought dryly.

Harry briefly wondered if anyone would buy the collection of house elf heads that came with Grimmauld Place. He had thought of sending them to Hermione at first, as an early birthday present of sorts. He knew of her fondness for the creatures, and figured she might like their severed heads.

This idea was much better though. Were house elf heads considered a commodity? He couldn't help but smirk as he thought of the price that Kreacher's carcass might bring.

Harry traveled deeper, passing the open markets until the crowds began to disperse. His destination was well off the beaten path, taking him into the back alleys he was unfamiliar with.

He did not worry about attack though, and those foolish enough to try would quickly learn their lesson.

Coming to the place were the Slytherin Prince met his psychotic aunt, Harry studied his surroundings. The building was small and decrepit, seemingly shoved into a corner of the square. Thick layers of dirt and grime covered the windows, preventing him from looking in. A narrow street ran alongside the building, leading even deeper into Knockturn Alley.

Malfoy must truly be desperate to join the Death Eaters, if he was willing to soil his clothes by coming here.

Harry briefly toyed with the idea of knocking on the door, but settled with waiting instead. From what he learned with his Legilemency, the meetings didn't last that long. Standing unnoticed in the shadows across the square, he watched and waited.

And thought.

The wizarding world, Harry had learned, was ruled by fear. People may not show it, but deep down inside, they were all afraid.

And they knew it.

Fear of the dark kept them inside at night. Fear of the unknown made them narrow minded. Fear of change prevented them from evolving, and in turn, made them stagnant. People don't like what they fear. They don't like admitting they're afraid, even to themselves. So they scorn and ridicule whatever causes it. As their fear increases, they eventually become hateful.

Death Eaters were a worthy example. Wizarding society fears these witches and wizards who choose to serve Lord Voldemort. They fear them because they represent a threat, because they use powers that others do not. As Death Eaters kill, the fear of society grows. As their friends and loved ones fall, they become hateful to those who bear the Dark Mark. And rightly so.

But they do nothing to stop them.

For their fear controls them. It grows until they believe these Death Eaters to be more than human. They convince themselves that they can't defeat such reckless hate and devotional servitude, so they see no point in fighting.

Do they not realize what they were doing?

The Dark Lord need not waste his time fighting these sheep. They will defeat themselves. Tom Marvolo Riddle did not create Voldemort, the wizarding world did. They created him in their fear. They convinced themselves that he was a monster, and a monster he became.

How do they expect to win the war, when they can't even say his name?

But even as Harry asked himself that, he already knew what the answer would be.

They didn't. They expected Harry to win for them, just as he had done as a child. It didn't matter that they had betrayed him time after time. In their eyes, they had done nothing wrong. They still expected him to fight for them. They still expected him to make the bad man go away.

And they will not understand when he refuses to.

He will not fight for these people. Let them pay the consequences for the choices they had made. Let them feel what it was like to be abandoned. Let them fight for themselves for a change.

Let them die, if need be. For he would not do it for them.

He would give them a lesson though. He would show them that Death Eaters are not to be feared. He would show them that they could die just as easily as their victims.

Night had fallen completely when he was shaken from his thoughts. The creak of the door alerted him of the end of the meeting, and several figures walked out of the decrepit building.

The slight figure in the lead, Harry recognized as the Slytherin Prince. Predictably, his two silent goons followed. Harry could almost feel sorry for Voldemort. The Dark Lord must be desperate indeed if he was willing to mark Crabbe and Goyle.

The others that walked out were wearing cloaks, but he still recognized the burly form of Marcus Flint. It appeared that the former Slytherin captain had only increased in size since leaving Hogwarts. Flint and three others separated from Malfoy and his goons, taking a narrow alley that led back to the markets.

The last to leave was the one Harry had been waiting for. He briefly saw a mane of dark black hair, before it was obscured by the hood of the cloak. It was all the confirmation that he needed though. The long hair, and the magical aura were enough to give their identity away.

_Bellatrix_

His blood turned cold and rage burned in his emerald eyes as he watched her walk across the square. Sticking to the shadows, he followed at a distance as she went through the cobbled streets. She was going in a different direction than Malfoy or Flint, heading toward Murtran Alley, the corporate sector.

Harry was afraid he couldn't allow her get that far. Murtran Alley was a rather public place for an execution. The dark streets of Knockturn would suit his needs much better.

Following her to an intersection, Harry scuffed his feet loudly against the paved road.

The action had the desired effect. Hearing the noise, Bellatrix spun around, drawing her wand as she did. She frowned slightly as she looked for the cause of the disturbance, unable to see him through the darkness.

Drawing his second wand, Harry walked out of the shadows. Bellatrix's violet eyes widened as the light from the street lamp exposed him.

"Hello Bella," he said, his green eyes turning cold.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't little bitty baby Potter," she said mockingly. The surprised look in her eyes betrayed her though. "And what is icklee wee Potter doing in a place like this?"

"Why I was looking for you, Bella," Harry answered as if it was obvious.

"Me? And what did little Potter want? Come to avenge my dear cousin?"

"Something like that," Harry said, smirking at her antics.

"Aw," Bellatrix said in a baby voice. "Does wittle Harry miss his mangy mutt?"

"Harry?" he asked, ignoring her attempts to anger him. "Come now Bella, it's Lord Black to you."

Shock and disbelief flashed across her face as she saw the Black ring on his finger. Draco must not have told her the good news. Her expression quickly turned to rage though, and an strange glint came to her eyes.

She truly was insane.

"_Crucio_,"Bellatrix screamed as she raised her wand.

Harry easily sidestepped the crimson light, and waved his wand as though he was brandishing a whip. It was the same spell that Dumbledore had used in the ministry. A long thin flame flew from the tip, wrapping itself around her arm. There was a searing sound, and Bellatrix gave a scream of pain as the corrosive flame ate into her flesh.

"Aw, poor Bella," Harry said, as he broke the spell. His tone of voice was the mocking one that she so loved. "That hurt didn't it?"

Panting slightly, her face flushed with rage once more, and the crazy glint returned to her eyes.

"_Nesvo Acervix_," she snarled, making a jabbing motion with her wand. A jet of acid streamed from it, shooting straight for him.

Twirling his wand, Harry conjured a gleaming dome of silver. The acid struck the shield and was diverted, searing holes in the brick wall as it hit. Turning toward her, he flicked his wand, and a beam of raw power erupted from the end of it.

The red beam hit the wall as she disapparated, leaving a gaping whole in its wake. She reappeared behind him with a small crack, and he was forced to dive out of the way as she sent a curse toward him.

Rolling back onto his feet, he pointed his wand at her and yelled "_Arcidio_!"

A black ball of fire shot toward her, reeking of darkness as it sped across the alley. Bellatrix waved her wand in an arch, and a transparent shield surrounded her. The ball of fire impacted with it, causing the shield to shudder and tremble under the power. It barely held.

"_Dravin Felus_," Bellatrix screamed, sending a powerful flesh-eating curse at him.

Harry waved his wand, swatting the jet of grey light into the ground with an unspoken spell. "_Penetrabilis_," he shouted as he snapped his wrist with a sharp motion. A nasty red bolt shot out of his wand, moving too fast for Bellatrix to block it. The Piercing Curse hit her in the upper leg, tearing open the flesh and gushing out blood.

She wavered slightly, a flicker of fear appearing in her eyes for the first time. Disapparating once more, she narrowly missed the next curse Harry sent at her.

She reappeared on his right, stumbling momentarily from her weakened leg.

"_Stremlok_," she screamed. A number of steel shards erupted out of her wand, spiraling toward him at a fast pace. Harry disapparated without a sound, and the shards embedded into the wall of the nearest building. He reappeared behind her, taking her by surprise. She was unable to block the bludgeoning hex he sent, and was knocked backward, off her feet.

"_Abolesco_," she shouted from a sitting position. A dark blue flame shot toward Harry, and he was too slow to move. He recognized it as the Gorenta Curse, for all the good it did him. Voldemort had always enjoyed using it. A burning sensation spread across his shoulder as the curse hit him, and he fell to the ground in pain. He couldn't stop the scream that escaped from his mouth.

Bellatrix stood up slowly, a smirk spreading across her wasted face. Her leg was still bleeding, and she was favoring her ribs slightly. Harry brieflyhoped that he broke a few with the bludgeoning hex.

"You fought well, Potter," Bellatrix said with a sneer. "But did you honestly believ - "

That was as far as she got though. Raising his hand, Harry made a jerking motion with his wand and shouted, "_Chalbys Penum_!" A steel spike exploded from the tip, spearing into her shoulder as she screamed in pain. The force of the curse blew her backward, and she was flattened against the wall.

She tried moving, but let out a shriek of pain as the spike tore deeper into her flesh. It appeared as though it had gone completely through her shoulder, and embedded itself in the brick wall behind her.

She was stuck.

Harry stood up, the pain from her curse having subsided for the moment. "_Chalbys Penum_," he said again, as she tried raising her wand. The second spike took her in the opposite shoulder, it too stuck into the wall behind her. Her wand fell to the ground, and she gave a moan of pain.

Walking forward, he picked up her wand, and snapped it before her eyes..

"Going to fetch the Aurors, Potter?" Bellatrix spat, gritting her teeth in pain."Go ahead. Have them send me back to Azkaban, my master will come for me."

"Azkaban?" Harry asked, mock surprise in his voice. "No, I'm afraid Azkaban is more than you deserve."

Her head snapped up at his words, her eyes wide with shock and disbelief. Apparently she had not expected this. They quickly filled with fear and horror though, as she realized what he intended to do. The look in her violet eyes was no doubt similar to that of her victims.

"Bellatrix Black Lestrange," Harry said, his voice turning cold. "You have been convicted of the torture and permanent incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom, and the murder of Sirius Orion Black. For that, I sentence you to death."

"May Hell welcome you. Goodbye Bella," he said, as he pointed his wand between her eyes.

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

* * *

Knockturn Alley really was an unpleasant place, Albus Dumbledore thought to himself as Kingsley led him down a narrow street. 

The veteran Auror had contacted Albus only ten minutes ago, saying there was something the Headmaster should see. Kingsley had said nothing more, and Albus was rather interested in what could be of such importance. Only the most serious of matters warranted the attention of the Auror Department.

We're almost there," Kingsley's deep voice informed him, as they walked into a small square. "We were notified about an hour ago," the Auror continued, "some sort of disturbance."

Albus briefly wondered what an Auror would consider a 'disturbance'. He could smell the magic clinging in the air, and he liked not the scent of it. It was Dark, and in Albus Dumbledore's mind, nothing good had ever come of Dark Magic.

But then again, he reminded himself, this was Knockturn Alley. Nothing good at all had ever come from theseshadowy streets.

"Take a look," Kingsley told him, as they approached a group of gathered witches and wizards. Albus absentmindedly recognized them as representatives from different ministry departments. What did garner his attention though, was the number. He spotted three Unspeakables lurking off to the side, remaining in the shadows as was their nature. There were several Aurors as well, and even a few members of the minister's cabinet.

Taking a look as Kingsley instructed, he was met by something he certainly had not expected. His eyes widened slightly as they took in the body of a woman he immediately recognized as Bellatrix Lestrange.

She was dead.

Well, that was an understatement. She had been stapled to the wall behind her, a steel spike through each shoulder was holding her in place. The sleeve on her left arm was ripped of, exposing the Dark Mark that adorned her skin.

Her wounds were not enough to finish her though, and Albus assumed a killing curse had been used as well.

Despite the damage her death would no doubt cause Voldemort, the whole thing had him rather worried. Bellatrix Lestrange was a powerful witch. Powerful enough, he was willing to admit, that no member of his Order would be able to defeat her. Whoever had done this was a strong individual, and knowledgeable when it came to the Dark Arts.

The fact that she was dead spoke highly of their skill.

It was certainly not a member of his Order. They had been told to observe only. The Order hadn't even known where Lestrange was hiding. Albus had never condoned the taking of life, and had only done so when there was no other option. Whoever had done this though, obviously had no qualms about it. They could have just as easily captured Lestrange, and then turned her over to the Auror Department.

Yet they had killed her, and had done so rather viciously.

It was altogether disconcerting. Albus couldn't risk having a rogue dark wizard wondering about. He already had concerns about young Mr. Potter, he didn't need another one to worry over.

His composure was shaken even more though, when he saw that which was above Bellatrix's head. His eyes widened in shock as he took it in, a single word on the brick wall. It was written in her own blood.

_Tenaroe_

* * *

"What?" Lord Voldemort roared, causing the man in front of him to pale extremely. 

"I just left the scene Milord," the man said, quivering under the Dark Lord's glare.

Voldemort eyes narrowed, crimson slits flashing dangerously.

"I arrived right after the Aurors," the quivering Death Eater continued. "Someone nailed her to a wall with steel spikes, then used the killing curse to finish her off."

The man trembled and shook as he stood there, no doubt expecting the Cruiciatus.

The Dark Lord however had forgotten about the quivering coward before him. Bella was dead? That was most . . . . . . unexpected. The lose was regrettable, but not overly damaging to his plans. He could easily recruit or train another to take her place. And her presence would not be so sorely missed once he broke the rest of his inner circle out of Azkaban.

Those blundering idiots would pay for their stupidity.

He was rather intrigued that someone had managed to kill Bella though. She was one of his most powerful Death Eaters. He had taught her the Arts himself. She was no match for someone as powerful as him or the accursed Dumbledore of course, but she could easily handle the best Aurors the ministry had to offer.

Whoever killed her would be powerful indeed. And if the trembling worm kneeling before him was correct, they had used the most forbidden of the Dark Arts to do so.

That immediately ruled out Dumbledore or anyone in his useless Order. Dumbledore was the leader of the light, he wouldn't use the Dark Arts even as a last resort, and the old coot had never allowed lethality.He wouldn'tgrant a dark witch or wizard membership to his little club either.

No, whoever did this wasn't answering to thedamn fool. And they certainly weren't answering toVoldemort either. It would be imperative that he find this person. Someone with enough skill to dispatch Bellatrix Lestrange would prove valuable.

"There was something else Milord," the Death Eater said, breaking Voldemort out of his thoughts. The man paled even more as the crimson eyes turned on him.

"Yes?" Voldemort asked, his anger rising.

"There was a name Milord."

A name? Did this person actually leave a name to claim their handiwork? How . . . . bold.

"And?" Voldemort asked, his voice deceptively calm. He was fingering his wand though, and his anger was boiling close to the top. The worm before him must have noticed, for he paled even more, and quickly continued.

"It was written in her own blood Milord," the trembling moron said. "The name Tenaroe."

* * *

**Death Eater Slain In Knockturn Alley, Tenaroe Lays Claim**

**Rachel Benedine, Special Correspondent**

**The Ministry of Magic was notified late last night of a disturbance in Knockturn Alley. Such occurrences are not unheard of, as the nature of the area is without a doubt, dubious. When Aurors arrived on the scene though, they discovered the body of a woman, later identified as one Bellatrix Black Lestrange.**

**Lestrange, a convicted Death Eater and Azkaban escapee, supposedly helped He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named gain entrance to the Ministry of Magic last month. ****Lestrange's body was apparently found nailed to a brick wall, steel spikes holding her in place. It was determined that she died shortly after, victim of an illegal killing curse.**

**Ministry Officials denied comment, though an eyewitness said that a word was left above the Death Eaters body.The nameTenaroe, was apparently written in Lestrange's own blood.**

**The Tenaroe name raises many questions, adding to the mystery surrounding the event. The last of the family, Lord Theden Tenaroe, died one hundred and fifty years ago. The House has been dormant ever since, and the blood line was thought extinct.**

**Ministry Officials once again refused to comment, as did Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, who was also at the scene.**

**Additional questions have been raised as to the purpose of the murder. No motive, as of yet has been discovered, besides the fact that the victim was a confirmed follower of You-Know-Who. **

**Two distinct magical signatures were found at the scene. One was confirmed as that of Lestrange, while the identity of the other was unknown. The signatures also show that numerous Dark Arts curses were used by both parties, throwing into question the legitimacy and nature of Lestrange's killer.**

**For eyewitness interviews, see page 3**

**For Bellatrix Lestrange's history, see page 5**

**For a brief history of the Tenaroe House, see page 8**

A twinkle came to the man's steel grey eyes as he read the article. It was happening. The wheels were in motion, and change was on the way.

He recognized the signs. He had not lived six hundred and sixty years without remembering the past.

He had been but another nameless man when the split had been made, and had watched as it grew over the years. He had watched as Theden was born, and had latter attended the last Tenaroe's funeral. He had watched as the line faded into obscurity, and he would watch as it rose once more.

There was a Wizengamot session approaching, and they would no doubt speak of this. None of them would remember though, as none had been there but him. They would not remember that you were never to slight a Tenaroe, as in them flowed the blood of the ancient snake himself.

Perhaps he would attend the session. It had been some time since he had. Perhaps the young Tenaroe would be there, as the man knew he had other names as well. Perhaps he would meet the lad, and see if he was like the others.

He knew Albus would never approve, and that was reason enough there. Coming to a firm decision, the man rose from his chair. He had to find his family robes, and Perenelle would now where they were.

Yes, changes were occurring. And it was about damn time.

* * *

**There it is. Hope you like it. If you don't, well, shit happens.**

**HeWhoComeWithTheDawn: I am not yet sure what my plans for Narcissa are. Though if she does have a future role, it will probably be a small one. As for how Harry will tell Dumbles and the Weasleys they are no longer welcome, it'll be hard and fast.**

**athenakitty: I hope this answered your question about Bella suffering. Kreacher is dead, and you will learn more about it later. Harry will tell Dumbles to back off, but I doubt if the old man will take the advice seriously.**

**wavefunction: Tenaroe will come out in the next chapter, though I am unsure as to how. I don't plan on Harry doing any power enhancing rituals. I can always change my mind though, it's the power I hold over myself.Ihope this chapter answered your question about a different wand. The one I had him use was yew, with a dragon heartstring core. I'm not going to have Harry just killing Death Eaters all the time. Bellatrix just held a special place in his heart. He will be making some allies though, and will fight anyone who gets in his way. Your question about Harry returning to Hogwarts will be answered in the next few chapters.**

**Moongypsy04: I am aware of the similarities between the two stories. I assure you though, I am not doing it on purpose.**

**I would like to thank all of you who responded with the title and author to the story I was unable to find. I'm very grateful. If you have any questions or comments, I would love to hear them. **

**Please review. Your words inspire me to go on during these dark and gloomy days. Just kidding. Or am I?**

**Until next time, CONSTANT VIGILANCE!**


	10. A Mingling of Lords

**Sorry about the long wait. But, well, shit happens. And then you die, right? Or does shit only happenbecause we allow shit to happen? Does that mean if we canstop shit, we can in turn, stop death? I believe this matter requires additional thinking. But for now, enough philosophy.**

**Before we begin though, there are some things I would like to say. I have gotten a few reviews were peoplevoiced their concerns that I was making Harry 'evil' or 'too powerful'. I assure you, that is not my intent. Harry is going to be powerful, as he comes from two powerful parents.As a child, hispower was also augmented by Voldemort, who is probably the most powerful person on the planet.**

**This, along with the vast knowledge he stole from the Dark Lord, will obviously make Harry a force to be reckoned with.**

**Now,for those who are concerned that I am making Harry evil. Well, let me ease your worries. I AM NOT MAKINGHIM EVIL. The thing with the house elf heads? That was a joke people. A wonderful little thing I call sarcasm. Harry would not actually sell house elf heads. I assure you, he has better things to do with his time.**

**Now, enough low level ranting. On to the story.**

* * *

Torches flickered in their brackets as he passed, the bright flames showing off his expensive attire. The purple Wizengamot robe flowed to his basilisk boots, the Potter and Black shields displayed on his back and over the heart.

He walked gracefully through the stone corridor, ignoring the mass of journalists and reporters who were gathered outside the council chambers. He didn't miss the wide eyes and loud whispers that followed him though, and knew his name would be mentioned in their articles the following day.

No one ever missed the chance to praise or ridicule the Boy Who Lived. As they had deemed him the savior once more, Harry figured praise it would be.

The door to the council chambers was of heavy oak, the Wizengamot insignia carved into the middle. Paying no mind to the nosy woman who tried approaching him, Harry raised his Occlumency shields, and turned the brass door knob.

The chamber he entered was circular in shape, with stadium seats that rose from the center. It reminded him disturbingly of the court room where he had been tried the summer before. There was a raised platform in the center, with a podium and a dozen seats set upon it.

The Wizengamot consisted of three bodies. The largest was made up of about seventy families, though the count had dwindled somewhat over the years. These families were represented by lords and heirs, who carried the powerful names of old.

The Blacks and Potters were among them, and the Tenaroe name had been dragged forth once more. The death of Bellatrix Lestrange was front page news. A member of a notorious dark family, the Lestranges, having been murdered by a member of perhaps the oldest family in wizarding Britain. A family that was supposedly dead.

It was ample reason for the whirlwind of rumors and speculations that had arisen.

The second largest body of the Wizengamot was made up of the councillors. There were fifty five in all, making up the High Wizard Court. Seats on the court were not inherited, but appointed to those who were deemed worthy. Or who had enough gold to their name. It was this branch that tried Harry the summer before, and that had sentenced Bellatrix Lestrange and her three companions all those years ago.

The third, and smallest, body of the Wizengamot was the hierarchy. The platform in the center of the chamber was reserved for these twelve members, who were generally considered the creme de la creme of the Wizengamot. It consisted of the Mugwump, the Minister of Magic, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and several other prominent members of wizarding Britain. The hierarchy oversaw the entire Wizengamot, and only the best and most respected were appointed to it.

What puzzled him is how Cornelius Fudge ever got such a position.

Predictably, silence occurred when Harry's presence in the chamber was finally noticed. The usual expressions flashed across the faces of those present, ranging from awe to contempt on some parts. He even saw a few suspicious looks coming from some, while others sported ones of appraisal.

He supposed appraisal was better than hate, but in all honesty, he didn't give a shit. The majority of them were docile lambs, and their opinions meant nothing. Especially to him.

He took a seat in the very back row, distancing himself from the other lords. The significance of the move would not be lost on them. They would come to realize that Harry Potter's loyalties lay only to himself.

Among the gathered, were a few he recognized. Either from the Daily Prophet, or having seen them in person. He had dug around a little in the past week, so he knew some of the stories behind the faces.

The aristocratic man a few rows down was Jonathan Greengrass. He was one of the twelve Hogwarts governors, and had a daughter that was in Harry's year. There was a brown haired man sitting next to him, who Harry recognized as Michael Zabini. He was a wealthy businessman, and rumored to be a candidate for the next Minister of Magic. He had a son named Blaise, who was also in Harry's year.

Neither Zabini or Greengrass had ever supported the Dark Lord, nor were they fans of Albus Dumbledore. Which was why Harry knew their names.

A few rows down from the two Slytherin alumni, was a stocky man with greying hair. Taylor Hopkins was the senior Healer at St. Mungo's, and a highly respected member of the wizarding community. His grandson was Wayne Hopkins, who Harry had shared Herbology lessons with over the past five years.

He didn't recall ever actually speaking with the Hufflepuff though.

Sitting three seats away from Hopkins, was an attractive, raven haired woman. Harry couldn't remember her face, but he recognized the shield on her robes as that of the Ackerly family. They were noted scholars, and had made several breakthroughs in the area of Transfiguration. Most of them were Masters or Mistresses in the field, and if Harry remembered correctly, there was an Ackerly who had been sorted into Ravenclaw a few years previous.

The other faces in the crowd were mostly unfamiliar, but a few popped out here and there. To Harry's disgust, he spotted Severus Snape among those in attendance. The Potions Master was standing next to a tall male, with a long, pale face. Memory of Antonin Dolohov came to mind as Harry studied the man, and he assumed this to be the Azkaban escapee's father.

The Slytherin Prince was lurking near them, having taken his father's place as Lord Malfoy. The later couldn't represent the family from his current residence, one of the drawbacks to being a resident of Azkaban Island. The pampered prat had been all too eager to take Daddy's place.

Draco would soon learn what the Dark Lord's Cruiciatus Curse felt like.

Feeling eyes upon him, Harry turned his gaze to the platform in the center of the chamber. Emerald green met a familiar blue, and a smirk spread across his face. The Mugwump seemed rather surprised that the Lord of Potter and Black was in attendance. And slightly angry as well.

Harry resisted the urge to flip the old coot off. That would probably make front page news. **Boy Who Lived Gives Mugwump Finger! **The Quibbler would no doubt print it.

Also sitting on the hierarchy platform, a few seats down from Dumbledore, was a man with piercing ice green eyes. His hair was shoulder length, and nearly as dark as Harry's. He couldn't name the man off the top of his head, so his eyes went to the family shield. The blue and silver colors, with an exquisite eagle spread in flight, gave him a clue.

"Charles Morgan," a voice said from beside him.

Harry's head snapped around at the noise, his holly wand appearing in hand. There was a man sitting next to him, where seconds before there had been none. His black hair was streaked with silver, and pulled back in a pony tail. A tanned face gave off a sense of youth, but the steel grey eyes betrayed the man's age.

And the shield with a silver dragon gave away his identity.

"Lord Flamel," Harry said neutrally, as he slowly re-holstered his wand.

"Lord Potter," the man replied, a smile playing at mouth. He was clearly enjoying the situation.

"I was unaware that you attended Wizengamot sessions," Harry said smoothly, as he raised an eyebrow in question.

It appeared that he was not the only one though. Several people, including Dumbledore and the aforementioned Charles Morgan, were watching the two with interest or shock. Interest from those who recognized the Boy Who Lived, and shock from those who recognized the great alchemist beside him.

"Oh, I haven't attended in many years," Nicholas Flamel said, a disturbingly familiar twinkle in his grey eyes. "But with the events that have transpired of late, well, I just couldn't stop myself."

The twinkle in his eyes may have been familiar, but Harry was glad to note that was the only similarity between the Headmaster and the man next to him. Dumbledore's eyes were a kind and alluring azure, which enticed people into trusting him.

Those of Nicholas Flamel though, were steel grey, with a slightly cold look the Mugwump certainly did not possess. There was a hardness to them as well, which revealed things that a man like Flamel never would.

"A rather exciting age we live in, wouldn't you say young serpent?" he asked Harry innocently, as he scanned the seats. The smile on his face was spreading though.

"Indeed," Harry answered slowly, his emerald eyes narrowing at the play of words.

From the books in his ancestral vault, he had learned of the extensive work Theden Tenaroe did in alchemy. And the man sitting beside him would no doubt remember what others did not. He would also recognize what others did not, and Harry had the emerald eyes of Salazar Slytherin.

"I wonder," he continued, "are you trying to get yourself obliviated Lord Flamel? I doubt if I can do all six hundred and sixty years, but I'm pretty sure I can manage the past few days."

A laugh like a bark greeted his warning.

"Fear not, young Potter," Flamel said. "Your secret is safe. The situation is far too exciting for an old man like me to ruin it."

"I find it rather amusing," he continued as his smile grew once more, "that you continue to be the topic of conversation. Though this time, they speak of you unknowingly."

It was an irony that had not been lost on Harry. These lambs searched for the identity of the Lord Tenaroe, and little did they know, that the answer was right in front of them.

"Amusing, indeed," Harry muttered to himself.

* * *

The Wizengamot session was rather uneventful. A member of the International Magical Trading Standards Body spoke about the knew laws related to the sale of dragon hide. It was quite meaningless for Harry, as none of the Potter, Black, or Tenaroe ventures were involved in that particular commodity.

The Tenaroe name had been brought up by one of the hierarchy members, and the reaction of the assembled was rather predictable. Murmurs of questioning and excitement had broken out at the mention of the mysterious lord.

Harry hadn't failed to notice though, the looks of worry and slight apprehension coming from the dark faction. A servant of Voldemort, who many of the people in that faction supported, had been cruelly murdered. And for all they knew, the Lord Tenaroe was sitting next to them.

The man who Harry was most interested in, Charles Morgan, did not speak. Cornelius Fudge did though, dispensing a few words about the Tenaroe incident. According to the Minister, Aurors were working around the clock, and would soon solve the murder of Bellatrix Lestrange.

Harry briefly wondered about the thought process behind it. Solving the case would not bring Bellatrix back to life. The ministry should really thank him, Harry thought, for taking care of the problem himself.

He was far from worried about Fudge's words. The man was bluffing, and to those who understood the power hungry politician, it was rather obvious. The Aurors had no clue as to the identity of Lord Tenaroe, and they were unlikely to get one.

The Goblin Laws were older than those of the Ministry, and Fudge had done nothing but alienate the gold keepers. They would not volunteer information, nor would Dumbledore be able to coax it out of them.

Ripthor was too smart to believe the Mugwump just had a 'harmless interest' in Lord Tenaroe, and the old man was not foolish enough to try intimidating a goblin. It was a well known fact that possessed a vicious streak, and they weren't opposed to using it.

Ludo Bagman would need more than prayers, if the goblins ever found him.

* * *

Charles Morgan was intrigued. The Wizengamot session had ended less than an hour ago, and he was currently sitting in the study at his family manor. That was not what intrigued him though.

What intrigued him was sitting in the chair on the opposite side of his desk. It was in the form of a young man with messy black hair, piercing green eyes, and a famous scar on his forehead.

He had watched young Potter during the session, and had not been the only one. Most eyes had flown toward the Boy Who Lived when he entered, and Charles had seen Dumbledore's stiff reaction.

He had been as surprised as any when he saw Nicholas Flamel sit next to young Potter. Charles had met the famous alchemist more than once, and he knew it took a lot to bring the man out of his quiet life. They had spoken after the session, and Nicholas said that young Potter was interested in meeting him. His interest had been piked when Flamel told him the meeting would prove most beneficial.

That brought them to the present, with Charles Devlin Morgan, Lord of Morgan, and Harry James Potter, Lord of Potter, Lord of Black, evaluating each other from across an oak desk.

"I am rather curious," Charles said, breaking the silence, "as to why you would be interested in meeting with me.

Interested was an understatement. Charles was nearly bursting with questions, but he was a Ravenclaw, which meant he could hide his emotions like a Slytherin.

"Lord Flamel did not tell you the nature of this meeting?" Potter asked smoothly. Charles tried reading the young lord, but his face was an expressionless mask.

"He did not. I was merely told it would prove beneficial," Charles said, raising an eyebrow in question.

"Beneficial indeed, if all goes well," the messy haired young man said. "I know we are in similar positions, and I believe we can help each other out."

If Charles's interest had not been caught by then, it certainly was now. Help each other out? What did the young lord possibly mean?

"You have made your position in this conflict clear," Potter continued, taking a sip of his tea. "You believed the rumors that the Dark Lord was back, and have publicly denounced Voldemort since then. I know as well, that you have denied Dumbledore's recruitment attempts."

"Who told you that?" Charles asked, more than a little surprised. "It's not exactly common knowledge that Dumbledore tried getting me to join his Order."

It had been nearly a year ago when the Headmaster approached Charles, and he had turned the old man down. Dumbledore had recruited him during the first war as well, and his attempts had been futile then too.

"I have my sources," the young man replied.

Sources? Charles was rather curious as to what kind of sources a sixteen year old could have at their disposal. But then again, this sixteen year old was Lord of two of the wealthiest families in wizarding Europe.

"I see," Charles said, not wanting to push the subject. "As you stated, I have denounced Voldemort, and refused to join Dumbledore. I believe you said you were in a similar position?"

"I am," Potter replied. "I believe my thoughts on Voldemort are common knowledge."

That was a bit of an understatement, Charles thought dryly.

"And Dumbledore?" he asked.

The young man paused at this point, and appeared to be thinking his words over.

"Dumbledore is the leader of the light," Potter said after a few seconds. "I have no interest in his rigid ideals or his righteous moral code. I have neither faith nor trust in him, and I do not believe he can win this war."

Emerald eyes burned with unnatural fire as the young Lord said this, and Charles wondered what exactly happened between Dumbledore and the Boy Who Lived. There was a hint of anger and loathing beneath the spoken words.

"Nor do I," Charles said. "I am rather curious as to what you plan to do though."

In response, the young man took an object out of his pocket. It flashed silver in the light of the fire, and Potter placed it on the desk between them. It was a ring, and Charles frowned slightly as he studied it. There was an beautiful emerald engraved with a regal snake, and he was certain he had seen it before.

The memory of an ancient tome flashed across his mind, and Charles Morgan's eyes widened in dawning recognition.

The ring of Tenaroe.

* * *

Harry closely watched the man's reaction. He had been confident that Morgan would recognize the Tenaroe ring, and this reassured him of the decision he made. Trusting Morgan with his secret was a risk, but Flamel had said the man could help.

And help Harry would need.

What he planned to do, could not be done alone. He couldn't defeat Voldemort by himself, no matter how much knowledge he stole from the Dark Lord. Allies were what Harry Potter needed in this war, and Charles Morgan was both powerful and influential.

He also held no love for ministry, Dumbledore, or Dark Lord.

"You killed Bellatrix Lestrange," Morgan said at last. It was not a question. The man across from him possessed a razor sharp mind, and could no doubt sense Harry's power.

"I did," he confirmed, though there was no need.

Emerald met ice green eyes, and the two stared at each other, neither backing down. Harry felt a slippery sensation enter his mind, and raised his Occlumency shields. The probe hit a solid wall, struggled for a moment, and was forcefully shoved out.

Harry's face had remained expressionless during the brief mind battle.

Surprise was evident in Morgan's eyes though, and he could understand why. Occlumency was an obscure art, and for a sixteen year old to be a master Occlumens, was abnormal to say the least.

Harry had long ago given up on being normal though.

Morgan's surprise was quickly replaced with appraisal, and after a few seconds, a smile spread across his face.

"I see," he said shortly. "May I ask why?"

"Did I need a reason?" Harry countered, raising an eyebrow in question.

Morgan's smile grew wider. It seemed the elder lord approved.

"Generally," he said, "there is a rational motive when murder occurs. You don't appear to be the type that would take a life without just cause. And the rather unpleasant way in which Lestrange died gives me reason to believe you held a grudge against her."

"Call it vengeance," Harry said with a twisted smile.

"Vengeance?" Morgan asked, both eyebrows raising.

"She killed a friend of mine," Harry said after a few seconds.

That was a slight understatement. Harry didn't feel like going into detail though.

Understanding flashed across Morgan's face, and a soft 'ah' escaped his mouth. This was apparently an ample reason in his mind. There were times when one must take the law into their own hands, and Charles Morgan knew that well.

"So the Lord of Tenaroe, Heir of Slytherin, sits before me," he said, as he ran a hand through his long hair. "You still haven't answered my question though."

Harry smirked slightly, the man didn't miss a thing.

"It's rather simple really," he said. "The wizarding world is at war, and naturally, people will be forced to choose sides."

"Naturally," Morgan agreed.

"At this moment," Harry continued, "there are two factions. We have the light, led by Albus Dumbledore, and the dark, led by Voldemort. Many people though, will not wish to join either."

"You mean the neutral families?" Morgan asked.

The man sure caught on quick, Harry thought dryly

"The majority of them are neutral," he said, nodding his head. "There are people in both camps who will be open to change though. And some of them will change, if given the opportunity."

Harry paused there, carefully thinking his next words over.

"All they need is another option," he said. "A third faction which they can side with or join."

"And I suppose you intend to lead this faction?" Morgan asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Not exactly," Harry said, staring the man in the eyes. "You are going to lead it with me."

* * *

**There it is folks. Not an incredibly long chapter, but I wanted to get it out there.**

**SlashGoddessConnlaFlame: **Harry will tell Dumbledore that he is the Lord of Tenaroe the same time he tells everyone else. Additional information on the Tenaroe family will be provided in the next chapter. I think.

**Maddy143ded:** I'm not quite sure what Harry will do about the other known Death Eaters. He's not just going to hunt them down though, and kill them all in a few days. He has to be methodical about it. I assure you though, that Bellatrix will not be the lastvictim to fall to Harry's cause.

**HeWhoComeWithTheDawn:** The reason I didn't have Harry go after the students is rather simple. As of now, they do not carry the dark mark. And if he did hand them over to the Aurors, it would raise questions that he doesn't want to answer. The next chapter willshow how much Dumbledore and Voldemort know about Tenaroe, and what their reactions will be.

**Wavefunction: **I'm not sure if Neville is going to havea larger role. If you go back to OotP, you will notice thathe has a Great Uncle Algie that is still alive. That meansthat Nevilleis not the eldest Longbottom male, and would not be the lord of his family. He would be the heir instead. I do think that Nicholas Flamel will be Harry's mentor though. It would be interesting, and he could learn a lot from someone who is six hundred and sixty years old. Albus does know about the Tenaroe family. How much will be answered in the next chapter.

**HazelWolf:** I believe this chapter answered your question about Flamel making an appearance.

**Please review. And remember, just because you're paranoid, that doesn't mean they're not after you.**


	11. Allies In Cause

**Sorry about the whole 'four weeks/ no update' thing. It's not like I meant to. And if I did, you, my dear readers, would do nothing about it. For I have the updating power, and on this website, THAT MAKES ME YOUR GOD! cackles evilly with maniacal glint in his eye as he marches in place ALL HAIL DALYON! ALL HAIL DALYON! Civilizations will crumble, and governments will burn in the fires of Dalyonism.**

**Now, seriously, enough with the fits of insanity. I would like to thank Treck, who reviewed and offered to AK whatever monster caused the updating lapse. You could blame it on several factors.A burned-out laptop charger, a box of Little Debbie Oatmeal Creme Pies, several Algebra exams, and a lazy, unmotivated author. **

**That would me of course. . . . if you didn't get the whole. . . . . lazy . . . . . author. . .. .thing. Algebra exams? Do you pity me yet?**

**Now, on to the show, for it must go on.**

**I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, I assure you, he would have been a Slytherin. Ron Weasley pisses me off.**

* * *

Eyes.

They were the windows to a soul. A looking glass, so to speak.

They conveyed one's thoughts and emotions, their temperament and feelings. They blinked in nervousness, narrowed in anger and suspicion, dawned in horror and recognition, and widened in fear and surprise.

Whether the beady black of a ruthless goblin, the yellow of an immortal vampire, the golden-brown of a shunned werewolf, or the numerous colors of a bigoted wizard, all eyes performed the same function.

They looked out upon the world, while others looked in.

Occlumency worked well for the mind, organizing one's thoughts and guarding their secrets from intrusion. The art didn't carry over to the eyes though, which could betray a person before the brain had time to react.

As an Unspeakable during the final years of Voldemort's first reign of terror, Charles Morgan had learned the mind arts out of necessity. The Dark Lord had been obsessed with the Department of Mysteries, and his followers were highly skilled when it came to obtaining information.

Whether through torture, Legilemency, or persuasion.

Due to this past training, Morgan could easily suppress the numerous questions and possible reactions that flashed through his mind as he registered Harry's words. He couldn't stop though, the slight widening of his ice green eyes, or the surprise that rose from their depths.

"Why me?" Morgan asked, breaking the long silence.

Harry merely looked at the elder lord, noting the reaction and the sense of calm Morgan maintained.

"I have many reasons," he answered. "The foremost of which is rather simple. You can help."

"Help?" Morgan asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow with practiced ease. Harry was beginning to wonder if all lords used that specific gesture. _He_ had certainly utilized it of late.

"How do you think that I can help you?"

"Once more, it's rather simple," Harry said smoothly, taking a sip of his tea. Frowning slightly at the cold liquid, he heated it with a wandless charm.

"You are a magically powerful individual, with years of experience in the political arena. You are also a highly respected member of the wizarding community.

"Something which I am not," he added after a few seconds.

"You don't consider yourself a 'highly respected' member of the wizarding community?" Morgan asked, amusement evident in his voice. "Many people look up to the Boy Who Lived."

Harry merely snorted in mixed disgust and exasperation.

"Oh, yes," he said bitterly."That is why I have been deemed their scapegoat, to be slandered one moment and praised the next. That's not respect Lord Morgan, that's sycophancy."

Pausing momentarily, he watched as a large raven flew past the floor-to-ceiling window.

"If I were to approach those who had beliefs similar to mine," Harry continued, "I would not be taken seriously. A sixteen year old trying to form an alliance that answers to neither Dumbledore nor Dark Lord? I would only be laughed at and subjected to unwanted attention."

"You could always use the name of Tenaroe," Morgan said quietly, looking the younger lord in the eyes.

"That I could," Harry agreed, "and that I will. But the Lord Tenaroe is an unknown quantity. You yourself know of the Slytherin connection, but how many others will? Salazar is not remembered fondly by those in power, and with the death of Bellatrix Lestrange, the Lord Tenaroe has proven to be skilled in the Dark Arts."

"Not exactly a reassuring combination," Morgan commented.

Harry merely nodded in agreement.

"With the name Morgan beside that of Tenaroe though, a certain respectability would be added. Your family is rather influential, and the word of a Morgan carries weight throughout the magical community."

"Indeed," Morgan mused. "And how precisely would the House of Morgan profit from such an alliance?"

"Profit?" Harry murmured, a small smile gracing his face. "I assure you Lord Morgan, I am not doing this for profit. . . . . . though there is always the spoils of war."

"Always," Morgan agreed, smiling in turn. "If profit is not your primary reason then, what may your motives be?"

Harry sighed, showing an uncommon amount of emotion. He had kept a tight rein on his feelings of late, not wanting them to betray him like they had done in the past. He mentally cringed as he remembered the countless temper tantrums he had thrown in the past.

Absentmindedly he recalled one of the ill-fated Occlumency lessons from the year before.

"_Fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves, who cannot control their emotions, who wallow in sad memories and allow themselves to be provoked this easily - weak people, in other words - they stand no chance against his powers! He will penetrate your mind with absurd ease, Potter!"_

It was perhaps the only lesson of importance Harry had learned from the bitter Potions Master throughout his five years at Hogwarts. And he grudgingly admitted that the greasy bastard was right.

"The wizarding world is on a self-destructive path," Harry said, returning to the present. "You know this as well as I.

"The current ministerial regime has failed, and will only continue to do so. The ministry is riddled from within by corruption and greed. They cannot protect the people nor can they oppose Voldemort. Dumbledore can only contain the threat, and as time passes, he would be defeated as well. Voldemort would reign supreme and his will would be inflicted upon those beneath him. He would simply kill-off all muggleborns and reduce to slaves all those that dared oppose him.

"While I am tempted to just sit back and watch the magical community reap the whirlwind of their ignorance and bigotry, I know that I cannot. I have the power to prevent all this from happening, and if I did not, I would be little better than the Dark Lord himself.

"I may not be able to stay out of this conflict, so if I must fight, I will do so for my own beliefs."

"And what are those beliefs?" Morgan asked, though he no doubt had a good idea by now.

Harry paused, looking out the tall window once more. Trying to put one's beliefs in word was not the easiest thing to do.

"I am neither light nor dark," he said after a few moments. "Though you have probably realized that by now. If you feel the need to label me, then I suppose grey would be an apt description.

"The ministry will soon crumble, whether from Voldemort or lack of public support. From the ruins I will create an open system based on magical tolerance. Purity of blood or nature of origin will matter not. Every person capable will be given an opportunity, and all will have the chance to rectify the mistakes of their ancestors."

Turning back to Morgan, emerald eyes met the ice green of the elder lord.

"I know what you are Charles Devlin Morgan, Lord of Morgan," Harry said. "And I know of another title that can be added to that, one which I will not speak of."

Absentmindedly registering the conspicuous look of surprise that flashed across Morgan's face, Harry continued his sales pitch.

"What I plan to do does not involve the Dark Lord only. Voldemort's destruction will not cure our world of it's ailments. My proposition will take time, and it will require allies in numerous places. But when all is finished, the magical world will benefit greatly. And those who toiled in the name of tolerance and change will be rewarded for their efforts.

"I am asking for your help Lord Morgan," he said. "And your help I need."

Silence reigned after Harry finished, the soft ticking of a grandfather clock the only sound being made. It was not a decision to be taken lightly, and Harry would offer the elder lord what time was needed.

Long fingers clandestinely made their way to his holly wand just in case, ready to be called upon if required. Harry would not have approached Morgan if he was overly doubtful, but misjudgment was not something he was unfamiliar with.

If Morgan denied Harry's offer, the elder lord would not walk away with memory of this meeting. Hopefully, he would not have to resort to such tactics.

Still, being prepared never hurt anyone.

"All right," Morgan said after a long minute. "I'm in."

* * *

Long, spidery fingers twirled a yew wand as the Dark Lord Voldemort sat upon his throne. Blood red eyes bored into the white masks of the Inner Circle, causing several of his Death Eaters to squirm involuntarily.

A malicious sneer spread across his serpentine face as he studied the robed figures before him.

His Inner Circle had been depleted to less than ten, due to the others pathetic display at the Department of Mysteries. Less than ten, with Snape and Travers the only ones with a any amount of tactical intelligence among them.

Voldemort had come to rely heavily upon Bellatrix Lestrange, and her untimely death forced him to postpone many of his plans. Azkaban had become the Dark Lord's highest priority, the retrieval of his captured servants of the utmost importance.

As things stood now, Voldemort would have to lead the raid himself. Something which he did not particularly look forward to, as just recently had he recovered from the events at the ministry. His duel with the muggle -loving fool had left him tired; his attempts at possessing young Potter, near death.

Grudgingly, Lord Voldemort admitted to having underestimated the boy once more.

His vast magical reserves had been nearly depleted after the brat pushed him out and reversed the possession process. For a week afterward he had been incapacitated, and had spent the last two regaining his strength.

Which was the sole reason he had not attacked Azkaban already. Without the presence of the few thousand Dementors that were previously stationed there, it was ripe for picking.

Ironic, was it not, that the moment he recovered from the ministry ordeal, another problem presented itself?

The death of Bellatrix had raised many questions, few of which had been answered. The most prominent being that of Tenaroe, and whether the lord had really returned. His spy within the Auror Department had been unsuccessful in finding information, which meant the ministry was as clueless as the wizarding public.

Voldemort had done his own investigations, just as he had done fifty years ago. If this person who claimed the Tenaroe name was truly legitimate, they would have the Slytherin blood flowing through their veins.

A powerful ally they could be, if approached carefully. Or a dangerous enemy, if given incentive.

He had dug deeply through the Hogwarts library as a child, in hope of discovering his own heritage. While he had never actually viewed the Slytherin family tree, it was rumored to exist still today, hidden in some obscure location.

According to legend, only the heir was capable of accessing it.

Long and hard he had searched though, and no clue had he ever found. He did know for fact that he was the last of his branch of the Slytherin line, and the Tenaroe side supposedly died out years before his birth.

And now one emerged claiming to be lord and heir? After one hundred and fifty years?

Of course, Voldemort reminded himself, stranger things had occurred where magic was involved.

Neither had Severus been able to obtain any information. Which was less than surprising, as Dumbledore had the tendency of keeping even his own people in the dark. The possibility that Snape had lied to the Dark Lord was not to be dismissed though, as Voldemort didn't trust completely the words that came from that serpent's tongue.

Well he knew the game said Potions Master was playing. Spies did not survive for long without keeping their options open, and Voldemort doubted if even Severus knew what side he was on.

It was a shame really, as the man was a genius when it came to brewing potions.

Ah well, the Dark Lord mused, on to business.

"Death Eaters," he hissed to the assembled, "there are plans to be made. Of the Azkaban variety."

Yes, Voldemort would lead the raid himself, as he had often done in the days of old. It would not be a mass breakout, the Dark Lord didn't have the manpower required for such an assault. Even without the Dementors, Azkaban was still a formidable island.

Only those recently captured would be broken out.

And one other.

Twelve in all, they would be rescuing, though only eleven were loyal to the cause. And as for the twelfth. . . . . . just punishment, it could be called. For one who had left the Dark Lord's service forever. He would be killed of course, just as Voldemort had sworn the night of his rebirth.

Lucius Malfoy, the Lestrange brothers, Dolohov, Crabbe, Nott, Jugson, Macnair, Avery, Rookwood, and Mulciber would all be returning to answer his mark.

And as for Norahdi. . . . . . . .that traitor would wish he had never been found all those years ago.

* * *

Harry apparated directly into the Black library that night, not wanting to deal with the headache that would inevitably come should he walk through the front door. He was well aware of the full blown Order meeting that was taking place in the basement kitchen, and had no wish to be interrogated before the entirety of it.

Which would no doubt happen should he be spotted right after walking in.

Walking over to the table situated in the corner, Harry pulled of his Wizengamot robe, leaving him in grey trousers and a black t-shirt.

He sighed in content as he sat down in a comfortable chair, relishing in the quiet that filled the room. He had taken refuge in the library often of late, finding peace among the countless books and ancient tomes.

They had a personality of their own.

His initial meeting with Charles Morgan had gone beyond well, and a second one was planned for the following Tuesday. The specific details of the proposed alliance would be discussed then, as Morgan would need time to compile his own list of names.

Unstrapping the holster on his left forearm, he took out his holly wand and placed it on the table before him.

"Winky!" Harry called out.

Said house elf came at his summons, appearing in the middle of the library with a small crack.

"Master Harry called Winky?" the small elf asked.

Harry had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. At least 'Master Harry' was better than 'Master Harry Potter Sir!', which is what Dobby and Winky had been calling him for the previous week, much to Remus' amusement.

The werewolf seemed to get some twisted kick out of the unnatural admiration that Dobby showed the young lord. That may have been due to the fact that the elf practically worshiped him.

"A drink, if you would, Winky," Harry said, pinching the bridge of his noise.

The house elf disappeared with another pop, only to return moments later with a large glass and a bottle of firewhisky.

An elf after his own heart, Harry thought with amusement.

Thanking Winky, he poured the glass to the top and effectively knocked back half of the potent alcoholic concoction.

It was Remus, damn him, who had introduced Harry to the splendors of the wizarding liquor. And the headache it later gave when consumed to freely. It had begun the night after Sirius' will reading, as a simple toast to a father and brother, respectively.

Long story made short; the bottle was empty in under an hour, and Harry and Remus were in the entrance hall, taking potshots at the portrait of Mrs. Black. The werewolf, unbalanced due to the copious amount of alcohol, had taken out half the wall with an Avada Kedavra.

Something he surely wouldn't have used had he been sober.

Not one to be deterred, Harry had taken his own shot, hitting Sirius' mother in the mouth with the Unforgivable Killing Curse.

Needless to say, Dobby and Winky had been doing repair work to the wall the next day, while Harry and Remus slept in, each suffering the effects of a terrible hangover.

And to top it off, the elves, in hopes of teaching the two wizards a lesson, had taken away their wands and refused to make them a sobering potion.

Harry could have sworn he heard Buckbeak snickering at their misfortune, too.

Damn Hippogriff.

Finishing off the glass, he flicked his wand, and summoned a large tome from a nearby shelf. The book was old and disturbingly enough, blood stained, with a nasty little charm that would make sure it stayed out of inappropriate hands.

Meaning Dumbledore, or anyone else who wished to destroy it. For Harry's own protection, of course.

The Black family was well known for their prowess in the Dark Arts. Even Sirius was skilled in the area, though he never chose to exploit it. Harry had no qualms about doing so though, and made good use of the numerous books the Black library contained on the Dark and Forbidden Arts.

Opening the heavy tome, he flipped through the pages until he came to the spot where he left off that morning.

A detailed drawing showed a man getting hit in the eye with a dark red beam, the picture continuing to the next page where the eyeball exploded in a shower of blood and mucus. The Occular Reductor Curse was deemed illegal by the ministry, as it caused immense pain, and the damage could only be restored by a potion of dubious nature.

He would need to try it on Lucius, the next time he saw the elder blond.

The soft turning of pages was the only noise as Harry read, time slipping by as he memorized wand movements and incantations. Most of the curses he already knew, though a few of the more obscure ones caught his eye. Which went to show that not even Lord Voldemort had absolute knowledge when it came to a branch as diverse as the Dark Arts.

It was a sudden jolt from the Black ring that shook him from his study, and the near sleep state he had assumed. Looking down at the family signet, Harry frowned as a feeling of warmth radiated from the silver ring. Emerald eyes widened in realization, and he rushed from the library, all traces of exhaustion gone.

The portrait of Phineas Nigellus had explained to him some of the powers the Black ring held, and he knew the heirloom was warning him now.

One of the wards had been breached, and Harry knew of only one person who could do it.

* * *

There were times when Nymphadora Tonks cursed herself for joining the Order of the Phoenix. While most of the missions she was given were at least bearable, her current assignment was disgustingly low.

Even Mundungus would frown at the morals behind it.

Tonks knew well why she was given this task. As the daughter of a Black, and effectively a Black herself, she was the only Order member would could bypass the wards at number twelve Grimmauld Place.

When Remus said that Harry was not yet back from the Wizengamot session, Dumbledore had given the sign, and Tonks had slipped discreetly out of the kitchen. It would not due to be seen by Remus, who would certainly disagree with what they were doing.

And an angry werewolf was not to be taken lightly.

Tonks herself was not exactly pleased with her current task. She had better things to do than break into the bedroom of a sixteen year old boy, and search through his private belongings.

She wasn't going to say that to Dumbledore though, who had been most insistent in the matter. The Headmaster had told her to confiscate anything of 'improper influence' and to find the Black and Potter deed books while she was at it.

Tonks felt ratherbad at the unethical activity, but quickly suppressed those feelings. It was for Harry's own good.

Slowly pushing open the bedroom door, she slipped in and closedthe doorbehind her. Lighting the lamps with a flick of her wand, a fresh wave of guilt washed over her as she recognized the room Harry had taken as his own.

Sirius'.

Her cousin's belongings were still there, mixed with Harry's own possessions. She tightened her grip on the wand unknowingly, holding back the tears that threatened to spill.

There were a few shelves on the far wall, lined with ancient tomes written in some flowing language she couldn't decipher. The bed was situated in the corner, next to a large, ornately carved wardrobe. Opening the doors, she found it to be filled with expensive cloaks and stylish robes.

What else had she expected?

Releasing a breath she wasn't aware of holding, Tonks moved onto the trunk at the foot of the bed. For some reason, she feared what she might find among Harry Potter's things. She had come to think of him as a younger brother, and prayed she wouldn't come across anything of an implicating nature.

Dumbledore suspected the boy of something.

The trunk, oddly enough, was not of the standard Hogwarts issue. It wasn't the same one she had seen Harry using the summer before. It resembled Mad-Eye's in design, with several locks and keyholes leading to separate compartments. She was faintly surprised when a simple "_Alohomora_" didn't work, but pressed on.

Waving her wand in a complex pattern, she muttered a spell that was taughtat the Auror Academy.

The keyhole unlocked with a soft 'click', and she opened the first compartment. There were several money bags filled with gold, as well as an invisibility cloak and a powerful looking sneakoscope.

Tonks assumed the invisibility cloak was the one Remus had spoken of, and there was nothing wrong with the sneakoscope. Gods know that Mad-Eye had more than enough of them. The gold was a bit puzzling, but she quickly dismissed the thought.

Teenagers had the habit of being rather careless in their spending.

The second compartment was filled with numerous glass jars, the contents of which Tonks didn't wish to know. Several of them were filled with what appeared to be blood, while one held a clear substance that was labeled "_Basilisk Venom_". She had to look away when she saw a jar that contained a large, yellow orb that looked disturbingly like an eye.

She had no wish to lose her lunch.

Frowning warily at what she assumed was Harry's collection of potions ingredients, she went on to the third compartment.

An additional wave of guilt washed over her when she opened it, as the contents were more personal than those of theprevious compartments. There was a silvery invisibility cloak, which gave Tonks reason to frown as she had found one in the first compartment as well. Setting it aside, she picked up a thick envelope that had emerald green writing on the front.

She instantly recognized it as the school letter sent to children at the age of eleven, notifying them of their acceptance to Hogwarts. Tonks had gotten one of her own little more than a decade ago. She was rather puzzled as to why Harry had saved his though.

Putting it aside with the cloak, she pulled a handsome, leather bound album from the bottom of the trunk. The young Auror hesitated for a moment, but her curiosity got the better of her.

Flipping open the cover, her brow furrowed when she looked down upon the moving picture of a handsome, messy-haired man, and a beautiful, red-haired woman. Her remorse returned tenfold as she recognized James and Lily Potter, and recalled the stories Sirius had told of the young couple.

Squelching her guilt, she turned the pages with trembling hands, knowledge that she was in the wrong nagging at her mind. Coming to a picture of the Potters' wedding day, a lone tear threatened to fall when she saw Sirius. He was standing next to his best friend, his handsome face young, carefree, and full of laughter.

There was no hint of the approaching darkness that would doom them all, or of themurders that would rip their world apart.

So absorbed was Tonks in the photo album, that she never noticed the soft creak as the bedroom door was slowly pushed open. She did notice though, the wand that was soon pressed against her temple, and the cold voice that followed.

"Wotcher, Tonks."

* * *

**Hah, Cliffy! Because I can.**

**I would like to thank all those who reviewed, but lets be reasonable. There was damn near a hundred of you. I promise you that the next update will not take as long. You can expect itwithin the nexttwo weeks. Things are kind of hectic now, lots of work and all that crap.**

**I was asked several questions by those who reviewed, and instead of answering each one, I decided to cover the most common.**

**Remus?**

I think the werewolf has mixed views. He's a bit on the fence between Harry's wishes, and what he thinks is best for Harry. I see him more of a surrogate uncle, than the father figure that Sirius was. Not quite sure how much of a role he'll play.

**Heir of Slytherin?**

The fact that the Tenaroe family are descendants of Salazar Slytherin is not common knowledge. Some of the more knowledgeable wizards, like Flamel, Voldemort, Morgan, and Dumbledore, know of the connection, but not many others do.

**Lord Morgan?**

Charles Morgan will be an extremely important character. You'll learn more about him as the story goes on.

**Nicolas Flamel?**

I am unsure as to how 'involved' Flamel will be in the war. I do like the idea of him being a mentor to Harry, though, and he will have a large roll as well.

**Romance?**

A few reviewers have asked about a possible Harry/Daphne Greengrass ship. While I do think it would work wonderfully, I myself doubt if I could write it. At least not in this fic. Harry will stay single for now, though there is always hope if I do an epilogue.

**Until next time, please review.**

**Dalyon, out.**


	12. Heirs of Old

**I own none of it, _ja_?**

* * *

"W-wotcher, H-Harry," Tonks stuttered, her body tensing as she dropped whatever it was she had held in her hands.

Pulling the young Auror to her feet unceremoniously, Harry slammed her against the wall, his hand at her throat and wand beneath her chin. Emerald eyes burned with unnatural fire.

"Looking for something, Nymphadora?" he asked in a deadly voice, pinning her against the wall.

"Ow," Tonks groaned, failing in her attempt to massage the back of her head. She couldn't move her arms due to the pressure he had on them. "Jeez Harry, you want to send me to St. Mungo's?"

"In my current mood, Tonks, Mungo's won't be enough to save you," Harry said coldly, his grip on her throat tightening slightly. "Now, how about you tell me what the bloody hell you're doing in my room, or I'll give you another hole to breath out of."

"Whoa, wait a minute Harry," the metamorphmagus choked out. "Lets not overreact, now."

Tonks quickly realized that was not the right thing to say.

"Overreact?" Harry growled, cutting off her air supply even more. "I think I'm reacting quite well, Tonks, _under the circumstances_. You do know that what you were doing can be considered an act of treason? In Sicily you would dead by now."

"Act of treason?" the young Auror spluttered indignantly, trying to break free of his grasp. "I haven't betrayed anyone."

Harry chuckled darkly, unnerving Tonks even more.

"Oh, but you have Nymphadora," he hissed. "Your mother is a Black, which by blood, makes you a Black as well. Now, perhaps you've forgotten, but Sirius _did_ make me the Head of the House of Black in his will.

"Which means, Tonks, in case you haven't caught on yet," Harry continued ruthlessly," that you have betrayed your family Lord. And despite being disowned, I've no doubt that Andromeda instructed you in the ways and rules of the Black Family. You betrayed the head of your house quite knowingly."

"L-L-Look, Harry," Tonks stuttered, desperation evident in her voice. "I was j-just doing what D-Dumbledore told me to."

Emerald eyes darkened at mentioned of the Mugwump.

"Fuck you, Tonks, and fuck the old man," Harry snarled. "I don't give a shit what he told you to do. A line was crossed, and despite whatever qualms you may have had, you're still the one who did it."

Ignoring her whimpered plea, he looked down, noticing for the first time what she had been searching through. His father's invisibility cloak lay beside his trunk, and a crumpled envelop Harry recognized as his first Hogwarts letter.

His ticket out of hell. A letter that had changed his life for the better. Despite the expectations, finger pointing, criticizing, abandonment and death that would follow.

His blood froze though, when he recognized the last object Tonks had been looking through. The leather bound photo album containing the only pictures he had of his parents. Emerald eyes turned dangerously cold.

"I see," Harry hissed softly, somehow controlling the fury that raged through his veins.

He may have lost all respect for the old man, but he never expected Dumbledore to stoop this low. Searching through a sixteen year old's private belongings? It was underhanded. It was unfair. What had he ever done to warrant such treatment? Such irrational suspicion? Such unwavering mistrust? They events of the past were largely outside his control, yet he was still scrutinized and suspected of every wrong doing.

He had given them nothing but faith and trust, was it so difficult for them to return it?

They found out he was a Parselmouth, and they turned their back on him. Someone put his name in the Goblet of Fire, and they turned their back on him. He warned them of the Dark Lord's rebirth, and they turned their back on him.

What had he ever asked of them? All that he ever wanted was anonymity, but apparently that was unacceptable. They would ignore whatever unethical activities may be committed, so long as to keep a leash on their Golden Boy.

It wasn't right. They were meddling in things that ought not be meddled in. One would think they would have learned their lesson by now. It seemed he would have to simplify the message.

They had gone too far.

"_Obliviate_," Harry muttered, pointing his holly wand at the fidgeting Auror.

A dazed look came over her as the charm took effect, and Tonks shook her head, looking around in a confused manner. She would have no recollection of the multi-compartment trunk, nor of the items stored within it.

Grabbing the Auror roughly by the arm, Harry dragged her out of his room and through the freshly painted hallways. Several of the portraits watched with interest as he steered Tonks forcefully down the winding staircase.

Seeing the fury in the Lord Black's eyes, they were wise enough to hold their canvas tongues.

Making it to the ground floor and paying no mind to a nervous Hermione and the two redheads that timidly approached, Harry led a spluttering Tonks to the kitchen where the Order meeting was held.

Hard punishment was the only kind.

Ignoring the Imperturbable Charm placed upon the wooden door, Harry blasted it to pieces with a flick of his wand.

"After you, Nymphadora," Harry said, shoving the reluctant Auror through the now open doorway. They apparently interrupted in the middle of Snape's report, as the spy stood at the head of the table, giving his usual bit about Death Eaters, Dark Lords, and all things evil.

At the commotion caused by the door being blown apart though, the majority of the Order rose from their seats with wands raised. Snape, instead of drawing his own, merely took a long step to the side, effectively taking himself out of the line of fire.

A preservative move, but no more than he would expect from the veteran spy.

"Harry?" Remus asked, frowning slightly as he lowered his wand. "What's going on?"

All the members, Snape included, watched in shock and confusion as Harry shoved Tonks forcefully into the room. Confusion for those who had not previously noticed the young Auror's absence from the Order meeting.

"I found this. . . . _thing_," Harry said, his upper lip curling with disgust,"in my room, searching through my private belongings."

All eyes immediately snapped toward Tonks, who was trying to vanish quite unsuccessfully.

"What are you talking about, Potter?" Moody growled, both eyes watching Harry closely. Unlike the others, the grizzled ex-Auror had yet to lower his wand, which was currently aimed at Harry's heart.

Paranoid bastard.

"What I mean," Harry shot back, "is that a ward was breached a short time ago. I was in the library at the time, and chose to investigate such a strange occurrence. Who should I find but Tonks here, searching through my personal possessions.

"I wonder," Harry continued, cold eyes shifting to Dumbledore, "what could she have been looking for, _Headmaster_?"

All eyes that were on Harry now shifted to the Mugwump, who was standing frozen in place. He could practically hear the gears turning in the old coot's head.

"I fail to see how I should now, Harry," Dumbledore said neutrally, he could hear the warning beneath the old man's words though. "Nymphadora's actions are her - "

"Don't try bull-shitting your way out of this one, old man," Harry snapped, cutting the Headmaster off. "It was on your orders that Tonks searched my room, you meddlesome fool."

"Harry James Potter!" Mrs. Weasley shrieked, her face rapidly changing colors," how dare - "

"QUIET!" Harry snarled, effectively cutting the woman off. Turning his glare back to the old coot, he said in a cold voice, "Tonks was there because you told her to, Dumbledore. Do you deny it?"

The Order members all looked to their leader, and several of them frowned as Dumbledore paled ever so slightly.

"I would never tell a member of the Order of the Phoenix to do - "

"Bullshit!" Harry said, cutting the man off for a second time. "She admitted to it, old man. Unless you're implying that this is all a farce, set up by Tonks and I?"

"No, Harry," Dumbledore said, the twinkle in his eyes non-existent. "I am implying no such thing."

"So you admit to it?" Harry asked, disdain evident in his voice.

"Harry, it was for your own - "

"Yes, I know!" Harry snapped. "My own fucking good!"

By this time the entire Order was watching the exchange with wide eyes, their heads moving from Harry to Dumbledore like it was some sort of muggle tennis match. Mrs. Weasley had turned an odd shade of purple by now, and Harry absentmindedly wondered if she was of any relation to Vernon Dursley. The red headed matriarch seemed close to exploding once more, so Harry silenced her with a mild glare.

She may have meant the best, but her mother-henning was really starting to annoy him.

"Really, Dumbledore," Harry said with a Snape-worthy sneer, "lowering yourself to trespassing and petty burglary. Apparently you think your righteous moral code exempts you from any wrong you may commit."

"Harry, I can only ask for your forgiveness. I was doing what was best," the old coot said. The words were no doubt spoken to the Order members, many of whom were looking at him with shock or disgust, as much as they were to Harry.

"Who the hell are you to decide what's best for me?" Harry asked ruthlessly, showing the old man no mercy. "My forgiveness I will not give, for you hardly deserve it.

"I will give you something though," he said to Dumbledore and the stunned audience. "Something which you have earned through your actions over the years. . . . . . .and especially of late.

"Dobby!" he called out.

The male house elf appeared beside him with a small crack, looking around the full kitchen with wide eyes. Some of the Order members were frowning slightly, no doubt wondering what Harry was on about.

No mercy. They had brought it upon themselves.

"Dobby, they have five minutes" he said, gesturing to the Order members,"If they're not out by then, notify the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Madame Bones' office."

The house elf nodded quickly, a nasty smirk spreading across his face at the instructions. The Order members though, did not seem very happy. Indignant outcries came from the large majority, and the resulting din became rather loud.

"Quiet!" Harry yelled, as Winky popped in to provide mob control.

"Harry, what is this?" Dumbledore demanded as he rose from his seat, blue eyes as hard as diamonds.

Harry was far from fazed.

"This?" he snarled, eyes just as hard as Dumbledore's. "This, old man, is the consequence of your relentless manipulations! Your constant meddling and blind prejudice! You seem to think that laws apply for all save yourself!"

"I won't allow you to - "

"I said QUIET!" Harry bellowed, as every piece of glass and china in the kitchen exploded.

"You have no say in the matter you meddling fool!" he continued in a frosty voice. "You brought this upon yourself, and you _will_ reap the whirlwind. Perhaps you will actually learn something from this encounter, though I highly doubt it."

The power was there, he could feel it running just below the surface, intoxicating and addictive. It would be so easy to let it loose, to thrash out at those who had wronged him. To unleash the power that was his by right.

Harry quickly smothered those thoughts. As tempting as it was, it probably wouldn't go over well if he blasted Dumbledore from here to the Rhine.

Leaving them with one last sneer, he said, "the Order of the Phoenix is no longer welcome at number twelve Grimmauld Place."

* * *

"Have you ever heard of a man called Janus?" Charles Morgan inquired as he took a sip of his tea.

It was early Tuesday afternoon; the second meeting between Harry and the Lord of Morgan. They currently sat in the Morgan family library, which he grudgingly admitted was larger than that of House Black.

"Sure," Harry answered, trying to recall what little Voldemort knew of the illusive figure. "He was the Head of the Department of Mysteries during the first war. Janus was a code name; an alias if you will. His born identity was known only to a select few, as was his true appearance."

"Good," Charles said, nodding his head in approval. "You know more than most."

Taking another sip of his tea, the Lord Morgan continued.

"Janus is a legend among the Unspeakables, and his reputation even spread to the general public, though his name is all but forgotten today," Charles said, his voice taking a reflective tone. "People tend to let slip the memory of unpleasant times, they don't wish to recall the strife and turmoil that comes with war and conflict."

The ice green eyes had glazed over as he spoke, in what Harry uneasily recognized as sorrow. Shaking his head slightly, the elder lord went on.

"As you conveyed, little is known of the man. There are a few facts among the mysteries, though. The man later called Janus joined the Department shortly after completing his schooling. It's believed that he attended Hogwarts, though that was never confirmed.

"He spent over fifty years in the program, and the majority of his work is classified to this day.

In the early 70's he was appointed Head of the Department of Mysteries, shortly after Voldemort began his reign of terror. Due to the threat of the Dark Lord and increased security measures, he was given a pseudonym, or an alias, to be precise."

"I take it this was about the time you entered the Department?" Harry asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

"A few years later," Charles said, nodding in affirmation. "I joined up in the later part of the decade, right as things were heating up.

"Janus brought a lot of changes to the Department. Things that mostly benefitted the Unspeakables. . . . . . and drove Barty Crouch mad. He was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the time, and was always trying to get his hands into our research. The Minister is the only one with complete access to the files and information contained in the Department of Mysteries, besides the Department Head that is, and old Barty didn't like that. He was also a leading advocate for banning the Dark Arts."

"I thought Crouch gave the Aurors authorization to use the Unforgivables?" Harry asked, frowning slightly.

"Oh, he did," Charles said, running a hand threw his long hair. "Crouch gave the _Aurors_ increased privileges, but he didn't necessarily want anyone else to have them."

Pausing momentarily, Morgan refilled the tea pot with a flick of his wand.

"The nature of the Unspeakables' work though, is rather. . . . . underhanded. . . . . at times, and can get downright dangerous. Janus fought long and hard to get us authorization to use the Dark Arts if need be, and he had to go above Crouch to do so."

"You mean he went to Bagnold?" Harry asked, filling his cup.

"That's right," Charles confirmed, nodding slightly. "Millicent Bagnold was the Minister of Magic at the time, and the only one superior to Barty Crouch. He and Janus where at the same level authority wise. Neither could issue the other a direct order, but they could run circles and play word games."

"How so?" Harry asked.

"Janus created an amendment to the Ministry Constitution," Charles began. "Due to the nature of it, the bill was sent directly to Bagnold, so the Council portion of the Wizengamot wouldn't have the chance to veto it. What it did was effectively protect the Unspeakables from numerous Ministry laws. If subjected to Veritaserum, we could not be questioned as to the nature of our work, nor could we be forced to reveal Department secrets."

"I'm sure Crouch loved that," Harry said sarcastically.

Morgan smirked in response.

"The amendments made quite the front page news, at the time," he continued. "Especially because Janus was such a mysterious figure. Not even Voldemort new of his true identity. Much public support was gained by our actions, as we had a higher capture rate than the Auror Department."

Harry, whose mind was working overtime as it processed the new information, could easily see where Charles was going with this.

"And then Rookwood," he commented quietly.

Ice green eyes darkened visibly, and Morgan's upper lip curled in disgust at hearing the spy's name.

The elder lord nodded.

"The scandal that followed Rookwood's conviction rocked the Department," Charles said bitterly. "Our public support nearly vanished overnight; much to Crouch's pleasure, I imagine. The Unspeakables were suddenly put under a tighter rein, and many of the protections that were issued us were quickly taken away. Our work was still classified of course, but not nearly as secretive as it was before.

"And Janus, who weeks prior had been hailed a 'Hero of the Shadows', was now put under heavy scrutiny. Crouch was at the center of it, demanding to know the man's true identity, trying to get complete access to the Department files. . . . .

"Of course," Charles said, a twisted smile crossing his face. "Old Barty had his own 'fall from grace' shortly after. That whole mess with his son made even bigger news than Rookwood's trial. And it only served to increase the animosity between Crouch and Janus. Not surprising, considering the people involved in the event."

"Crouch was ruined because of Junior's conviction," Harry commented, filing that last bit of information away. "But what happened to Janus?"

"No one knows," Charles replied, frowning as he noticed his cup was empty.

"What do you mean?"Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sighing heavily, Morgan poured himself more tea.

"Janus disappeared shortly after Crouch Jr.'s trial," he said. "Seeing as his true identity went with him, he's never been found."

"Never been found?" Harry asked skeptically. "You've just wasted twenty minutes of my time telling a ghost story?"

"I said Janus has never been found," Charles said irritably, scowling at Harry. "But as you yourself said, Janus was only an alias."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"So if you haven't wasted the last twenty minutes of my time," he began, refilling his own cup, "I assume you are one of the few who know is real name?"

There was a pause.

"You're no fun," Charles finally pouted.

Harry merely snorted. Morgan sighed once more.

"He was most interested in what I had to say," the elder lord said, shrugging one shoulder. "And for some inexplicable reason, in meeting you as well."

"I'm flattered," Harry said dryly.

It was Morgan's turn to role his eyes.

"I scheduled a meeting for sometime next week," the pony-tailed man said. "Now, I have given you my choice. Perhaps you could indulge me with the identity of yours."

Harry smirked at the older man, pondering whether he should conjure a camera to catch the reaction. Instead, he merely said two words.

"Norahdi Draven."

Charles, who had previously been looking out the nearest window, snapped his head around at Harry's words. Ice green eyes quickly filled with a mix of shock, disbelief, and ever growing horror. His normally refined voice was a barely audible whisper.

"The Heir of Voldemort?"

* * *

The icy waters of the North Sea broke upon the rocky cliffs of the island, howling winds emitting a tumultuous rage. A lone beach stood out among the jagged rocks, black sand the only relief on an isle of unforgiving stone.

Built in the center of the barren island was an imposing structure made of the strongest ore. Ominous gates sealed the building from the outside, while a series of guard towers watched the rock strewn land below. The grandest of armies have fallen before these impenetrable walls, and sorcerers of the greatest skill have failed to claim victory against the notorious castle.

The dread fortress of Azkaban.

The dark corridors of the prison were lined with countless cells, reinforced doors keeping the inmates at bay. They weren't needed to prevent escape though; not when the majority of the residents were trapped within their own head, plagued by the worst nightmares of their past, haunted by demons that never slept. They were incapable of thinking in a sane manner.

In retrospect. . . . . . . . it was the closest thing to Hell on Earth.

Due to the Dementors mutiny, an Auror squadron was stationed on Azkaban Island at all times. Human guards had been hired as well, and could be found walking the prison halls at regular intervals, making any escape attempt even harder.

A heavy iron door at the end of a long corridor led to Azkaban's most known residents. The High Security Block was guarded at all times, Aurors stationed outside the cells twenty four hours a day. Only the most dangerous of convicts were contained there. Only those who had committed the most vile of crimes. Bellatrix Lestrange was housed here before her escape, and brothers Rudulphus and Rabastan were back again. The additional members of the botched ministry raid were contained in similar holdings.

It was in cell thirteen however, where Azkakan's most notorious inmate could be found. A prisoner more infamous than Sirius Black. His name was Norahdi Arcerias Draven.

The Dark Heir of Lord Voldemort.

* * *

Cold blue eyes pierced the darkness as he remembered, power radiating from their depths. Even after all this time in Azkaban, it still came at his call. Though it did him little good in his current situation, after the Aurors lined his cell with magical suppressors.

Assholes.

Fifteen years. Fifteen years now, that he'd been locked away. Fifteen years in Hell. Fifteen years of fighting the Dementors, of reinforcing his shields to keep the soul suckers out. They were no longer a problem, though. The hellish fiends had left Azkaban Island, and Norahdi Draven knew very well why.

He could easily make out the Dark Mark tattooed upon his forearm, even through the torn robes and layers of dirt and grime. Two years ago it had begun to darken, and it often burned black of late. Yes, the man who was once the Dark Heir knew all too well what that meant.

Tom was back.

It came as no surprise, really. The man's knowledge of magic had been second to none. He of all people knew that, as Tom had been his personal instructor for nearly a decade. Such were the perks of being chosen the Dark Heir.

There were few others.

Of course the bastard would come back, it had only been a question of when. Norahdi had pondered often over the years, the choices of his past. Especially compared to those of his former comrades. Bellatrix took the Mark out of servitude, and to quench the insane pleasure she derived from torture. Lucius took the Mark out of ambition and hunger for power, while Severus did so for his ideals. The rat Wormtail took the Mark because of his insecurities, as he knew he would never be as good as Potter and Black.

Or the wolf, for that matter.

And as for Norahdi? He had taken the Mark out of self-preservation. . . . . . and in the interests of survival. He had taken it because he was the Dark Heir, and Tom would have killed him if he had not.

In hindsight though, perhaps death would have been better. Hell would have no doubt been his punishment, if such a place existed. Despite his true loyalties, he had still committed atrocities in his desire to survive.

Though, as he reminded himself, Azkaban wasn't much different than Hell.

The bitter days had passed slowly, and weeks had eventually turned into years. He probably would have forgotten how long it had been, were it not for the smug Aurors who constantly reminded him.

Bastards.

A dozen times he had made plans for escape, and went threw with more than one. He had even smelt fresh air once, before the Dementors dragged him back. Despite being in their presence for nearly have his life, sanity was one of the few things he could still call his own. His skill at Occlumency probably helped in that area.

His anger didn't hurt either.

That was something Norahdi Draven had plenty of. Anger at Tom for molding his life. Anger at the ministry for denying him trial. Anger at the old man for staying quiet. At times of extreme bitterness, he had even been angry at his parents, whose death had started this all.

Anything to place the blame on shoulders not his own, he thought sarcastically. But really, join or die? What kind of choice was that for a small child to make? For some reason the gods hated him. He would have hated them back of course, if he actually believed in them.

Religion was not among the Dark Lord's teachings.

But his thoughts were wandering, as they so often do.

Perhaps his sanity could be attributed to several factors. His Occlumency and anger among them. Retribution was always a good one, too. And he could think of many who deserved the wrath of his vengeance.

Perhaps he would give escape another shot. It would annoy the Aurors, at the very least. And perhaps he would get his revenge, by wielding the power that was his by right. The power that so many had fought over, in the days of old.

Speaking softly in an ancient language, the air around him crackled with power, overwhelming the magical suppressors for a short moment. Cold blue eyes glowed in the darkness as the foreign words registered, and his body gave off a slight glow. A feeling of warmth passed through him as the oath was accepted.

For the first time in many years, Norahdi Draven, formerly the Heir of Voldemort, smiled. He would have to thank the old man one day, for teaching him the Druid tongue. After that, vengeance would be his.

* * *

High above the towers of Azkaban, in the plane of the Immortals, and ancient power awoke as her words were spoken. It was the second time in recentmemory that the language of old was used. And as the words came to her, she realized they were similar to those utilized by the prophesied one.

Looking down upon the oath taker, a dark smirk spread across the Immortal's face. Another oath of vengeance had been taken, and Nemesis, goddess of retribution, would watch the coming events with glee.

* * *

**WHOOOO! DONE! FINISHED! BAM!** grins like a goon as he dances the jig in celebration I, Dalyon, hereby submit this chapter on time with accordance to the A/N written at the end of my previous posting. If anyone has any comments, or wishes to refute my claim that this chapter was posted on time, you can do so via review.

Or, quite frankly, you can kiss my ass. **WHOOOO!**

Now! On to the dirty work! It has come to my attention, thanks to reviewer **_arcrose_**, that FAQs, like those I posted at the end of last chapter, are frowned upon by the Dictators - uh, I mean Administrators (_coughs nervously)_ - of this wonderful internet website. I really don't know why, but it's most likely a bullshit rule they created for some inane, unknown reason. And knowing the bloody tyrants - uh, I mean Administrators (_looks over his shoulder)_ - they'll conveniently say that's always been their policy, and the next day there'll be a new rule that officially prohibits it. It's sorta like that crap about the music lyrics. Whatever happened to the old 'unleash your imagination/free your soul' motto?

Don't bother trying to answer that.

Soooo, instead of posting FAQs, or replying to every questioned asked in a review, I'll just give 'excess' information. First off, Neville will be appearing in this fic, and will have a significantly large role. As I have alluded to before, this will not be a romance, for I highly doubt that I could write one. Nor do I want to. You will learn more about the character Charles Morgan as the story goes on. Not before, not after, but as it goes on.

I think I just confused myself with that one.

A few selected members of the Weasley clan will have significant roles in this story. I assure you, it won't be Ron. I don't like Ron. Nicolos Flamel will also have a rather large role in the story. And just to clear some things up people, J.K. never said old Nicky died. She merely wrote that the stone had been destroyed and that they had enough elixir stored to 'set their affairs in order.' Nowhere did she say that the old man bought it, gave up, kicked the rocker, met his maker, went with God, joined his forefathers, or died in any other way, shape, term, or form. Nor did she say it was the only stone Flamel had ever made, she only implied that it was the only one that Albie knew about. For all we know, the son of a roo shooter could be carrying another stone in his bloody pocket.

I somehow doubt that, though. Ah, well, whatever. On an another note though, there were two OCs introduced in this chapter. A man called Janus, who is the former Head of the Department of Mysteries, and Norahdi Draven, formerly the Heir of Voldemort, now imprisoned on Azkaban Island. Both will be key players in the little game I call 'Of Blood and Power', so I suggest you remember their names. Janus is pretty easy, but I will elaborate on the other one.

Norahdi Draven: norah - die, drey - vin

Well, I think that's all. Uh, pretty sure, at least. Until next time you hip and cool dudes, **CONSTANT VIGILANCE!**


	13. Isle Raid

**Who in the Hell started this disclaimer crap anyway?**

**

* * *

**Built by the goblins during a war forgotten, the dread fortress of Azkaban has stood for nearly seven hundred years. Testament to an age lost, it's stone corridors have housed some of Britain's most notorious criminals. Or those the Ministry wished to silence. Despite their best efforts, the infamous prison reminds the magical world of the darkness they would choose to ignore. 

See no evil, has long been the protocol.

Over the years, the inmates have varied from those sentenced for petty crimes, to those who commited the most vile of acts. Margarian Gray, heir to one of Europe's oldest pureblood families, was once sentenced to Azkaban after he successfully robbed Gringotts twice in the same day. According to legend, his loot is still hidden in a location only he knew.

Aldaric Solon, a promising Ravenclaw alumnus, once served three years for engaging in illegal, Dark Arts activity. Years later the world would know him better as the Dark Lord Grindelwald.

The prison was guarded by more than just walls and gates. Numerous wards surrounded the fortress, many of them having been cast by the goblins themselves. As such, they only grew stronger with age. The island is further isolated from the outside world by the unplottable charm placed upon it, and the Floo System is only connected to the fireplaces of a selected few; Amelia Bones and the Minister of Magic among them.

The island is accessible by Portkey and apparation, though security wards are in place to prevent any unauthorized guests. Furthermore, one can only Portkey to a place they have been to before, which means the individual would need to have previous, first hand knowledge of Azkaban Isle.

Luckily for the Lord Potter, he knew a famous alchemist who had once served as Liaison Officer on the island when it was still governed by the Goblin High Council.

The Lord of Flamel could get him in.

* * *

Norman Chomsky was not an overly talented wizard. A Hufflepuff alumnus, he had always finished in the middle part of his class. A short and rather portly fellow, he had risen to where he was today by knowing the right people. 

And when the opportunity presented itself, by riding the hem of their robes.

He had joined the Ministry of Magic right after completing his Hogwarts education, and eventually worked in the Department of Magical Catastrophes with his former dorm mate Cornelius Fudge. Years later, when Fudge was appointed Minister, he had made Chomsky the Warden of Azkaban Prison.

It wasn't a job that Norman particularly enjoyed, as nobody wished to work with the Dementors that formerly guarded the island. It was a rewarding one though, with a rather inflated salary and an invitation to all the big parties. Unfortunately for Norman, the job also carried a lot of responsibility, which was something he had never been fond of. Over the years he had procured his fair share of critics, due to the rather sloppy way he went about his work.

Azkaban had been built nearly seven centuries ago, and for over three hundred years it has served as the Ministry's prison. In all that time there has only been two successful escapes, each of them happening within the last three years.

Each of them happening under Norman's lazy watch.

The escape of Sirius Black had dragged Azkaban into the spotlight, and Norman along with it. A Ministry investigation had followed the headlines, and it was then that the critics started to voice their opinions. Things eventually died down, but peace was not to be. Less than six months ago there had been another break out, and this one was even bigger news.

Rookwood the spy, Antonin Dolohov, and the infamous Lestrange brothers had been among the escapees. Not to mention Bellatrix Black Lestrange herself, the most feared dark witch that ever served He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The media had a field day when knowledge of a second escape was made public, something that Norman had tried to prevent.

This time, it was only due to his old friend Cornelius that he kept his job. Norman _really_ didn't want to think about the public reaction that would occur should the recently recaptured prisoners escape again.

He was starting to get a headache as it was.

Reluctantly skimming through the piles of parchment that covered his desk, the portly Warden couldn't help but feel that Fudge's days in power were numbered. And he had the unwelcome suspicion that his were as well.

Norman couldn't possibly imagine how right he was.

* * *

The familiar sensation of a hook jerking behind his navel came, and in a howl of wind and swirling color, Harry felt his feet slam into the ground. Just as planned, he and his two associates had arrived exactly at nine o'clock in the evening, in the middle of the office belonging to Azkaban Warden Norman Chomsky. 

"Who the Hell are you?" a whiny, swine-like voice demanded from behind him. Harry and the other two turned around to find a short, rather portly man sitting behind a large desk. Oddly enough, there was sweat pouring down the man's balding head, and he was paling more by the second.

Harry couldn't exactly blame the pig-like Warden. Three strange figures had just appeared in the middle of his office, all clothed in the black robes and white masks often donned by Death Eaters. Which was exactly why Harry and the others where wearing them. They _did_ have to make this convincing.

"Good evening, Warden," the refined voice of Charles Morgan said from behind a white mask.

Stepping forward, the former Unspeakable quickly raised his wand and muttered, _"Stupefy!"_ There was a powerful beam of red light, which hit Chomsky right in the chest, and the portly man was blown out of his chair, unconscious before he hit the ground. "Good night, Warden."

Gesturing to Harry and the third member of their party, Morgan ripped of his mask and began searching the draws of the Warden's desk. "You get the wand," Charles said as he rifled through a file of parchment. "I'll find the prisoner number and cell location."

Harry nodded, ripping off his own mask as he walked toward the nearest wall. The whole thing was covered in dusty, wobbly shelves. The shelves in turn were stacked floor to ceiling with long, thin boxes, each box having a name and date written on the end. "November of '81," the third robed figure said as he walked up beside Harry and took of his mask, revealing the tanned face and silver-streaked black hair of Nicolas Flamel.

"Norahdi Draven was apprehended and sent to Azkaban Island on November 18, 1981," the famous alchemist said, his steel grey eyes scanning the rows of boxes.

Like so many other prisoners who have been incarcerated during Chomsky's tenure as Warden, the wand of Norahdi Draven had never been snapped, contrary to Ministry protocol. The portly Warden had a thing for collecting 'trophies', and personally saved the wands of many of his inmates. Especially the more infamous ones. As emerald eyes scanned the shelves, Harry saw some rather familiar names written on various boxes.

"Here we are," Nicolas said, pulling a thin, dusty box from its place on a shelve near Harry's shoulder. On the end of the box, in black letters was written:

**_Norahdi Arcerias Draven_**

_** 11 - 18 - 81**_

Within the box was a long, slender piece of dark wood, in the same condition as when last used by the Heir of Lord Voldemort. Despite the rather innocent way the wand lay within the box, Harry could feel the magic that radiated from it.

"The stronger a wand," Flamel commented from beside him, handling the box cautiously, "the fewer who can us it. And if I'm not mistaken, this one is rather powerful."

Replacing the lid on the box, Flamel carefully stored it within the folds of his voluminous black robe. "We wouldn't want to experience any backlash," the alchemist continued, his steel grey eyes studying the office as he walked around.

Harry, however, didn't move from his spot by the shelf-covered wall. Frozen in place, and paying no mind to the action around him, emerald eyes stared at the shape of a particularly dusty box that seemed to call his name. For some unknown reason, a feeling of dread washed over Harry, and he could practically hear his heart pounding in his chest. Slowly, long fingers reached out toward the box. The dust on it was smeared by his touch, and the fine powder was brushed aside, revealing the words that were written beneath.

**_ Sirius Orion Black_**

_** 11 - 1 - 81**_

Slowly, his fingers curled around the long, thin box that contained his godfather's wand. Lifting it from its place on the shelf, he made to open the lid, his throat feeling oddly constricted. . . . . .

"Found it!" Charles suddenly exclaimed from the other side of the Warden's office, holding up a stack of parchment and tearing Harry out of his trance. Quickly putting the lid back in place, the messy-haired young man shoved the box into his robes before the others could see. Sirius was a rather personal matter, and he had no intention of discussing it with anyone. Carefully schooling his emotions, Harry strode over to join the others.

"Draven, Norahdi Arcerias," the former Unspeakable read, his ice green eyes scanning the top parchment. "Prisoner # 713; sentenced to life imprisonment on Azkaban Island, November 18, 1981. Charged for repeated use of the Unforgivable Curses, conspiring to overthrow the Ministry, engaging in illegal Dark Arts activity, suspected links to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, etc, etc, etc. . . . ."

Handing the file over to Flamel, Charles unrolled a large, yellowed piece of parchment. Spread across the Warden's desk, the parchment was illuminated by the glow of the fire, revealing the inky black lines of a detailed map and floor plan. "According to the file, Draven's cell is located in Block 3, Wing B."

"B Wing is here," Nicolas said, using his wand as he pointed to a far corner of the aged map. "We are currently in the Administrative Wing, which is located three floors above Cell Block 3. Now, Azkaban began using lifts at the same time as the Ministry, and when last I heard, they were still in operation today."

"Platfrom 7," Harry confirmed, pointing to an elevator shaft that was illustrated on the map. "It's the closest one to this office, located right down the hallway. Now, if I'm reading this correctly, and I would like to think that I am, then it runs all the way from the Administrative Level to the basement dungeons. All we have to do is get off at the right stop."

"From there we make are way down Corridor C, through the high security checkpoint that requires administrative clearance, around the heavily manned Auror station, and past the impenetrable, iron-wrought door that leads to Cell Block 3," Nicolas murmured enthusiastically, tracing the route with one long finger. "Of course, that's _if_ we manage to go unnoticed while sneaking past the Aurors that walk the beat."

Harry frowned slightly, as did Morgan, both of them watching Flamel with piercing green eyes. "What has you so damn excited?" Charles suddenly demanded, taking the words right out of Harry's mouth.

"What?" Nicolas sputtered, surprisingly enough, his face turning red. "Well, I. . . .um . . . .I haven't had this much fun in centuries. Since the Goblin Rebellion of 1729, if I remember correctly."

Harry and Charles exchanged bewildered looks, their eyebrows raised, and this time, it was Harry that asked the question. "Why did we invite him?" the emerald-eyed boy inquired after a moment.

"Because he's abnormally powerful, with six hundred and seventy years of experience, has first hand knowledge of Azkaban Island," Charles listed helpfully, "and his wife wanted him out of the house."

"Ah, yes," Harry murmured thoughtfully. "That explains it."

"Would you two act professionally for a moment?" Flamel snapped, glaring at the younger lords as they began to laugh. "This _is_ a rather risky operation we're about to undertake, and the consequences will be drastic if either of you get caught."

"Oh, don't be such a worry-wart, Nick," Charles said, regaining his usual calm, cool demeanor. "It's only Azkaban we're raiding."

The alchemist merely snorted and turned toward Harry, who was now standing over the unconscious form of Norman Chomsky. " This was _your_ idea," Nicolas said pointedly. "I take it you _do_ have a plan?"

"Of course I have a plan," Harry retorted indignantly. Pointing his wand at the Warden's chest, he muttered, "_Ennervate_." The portly man opened his beady eyes, and immediately scrambled against the wall when he say Harry and the others standing over him, white masks hiding their features once more.

"The plan!" Harry announced, glancing at the other two. Pointing his wand at the terrified Warden once again, he muttered, _"Imperio!" _

* * *

Regularly clad in robes of a flashy scarlet, with a ponytail down past his shoulders, Greg Williamson had been an Auror for nearly seven years. A Gryffindor alumnus, he had been accepted into the academy immediately after Hogwarts. The years following the Dark Lord's defeat were rather quiet in the Department, with most of the Aurors being assigned to investigations or intelligence gathering. 

Things had generally remained the same over the past year, even with the rumors of You-Know-Who's return. Williamson considered himself as loyal to the Minister as any Auror, and had payed no attention to the far-fetched stories that were spouted by Potter and Dumbledore.

That is until a month ago, when he had responded to an emergency call from the Ministry, and had seen the truth for himself. Williamson had arrived in time to see a tall, skeletal man with red slits for eyes, just as he disapparated with a dark haired woman in tow.

The next thing Greg knew, the Minister officially confirmed the return of You-Know-Who, along with the capture of eleven of his followers and the revolt of the Dementors'. A day later he was being shipped out to Azkaban as part of a new Auror Squadron tasked with guarding the infamous prison.

Needless to say, Williamson was not pleased with his current assignment.

A series of jangles and metallic rings perked his interest though, and the pony-tailed Auror briefly looked up from his place at the security checkpoint. The brass grilles slid open, and Williamson immediately removed his boots from their place on his desk when he saw who it was.

"Warden Chomsky," the Auror greeted neutrally, hiding his disgust as the short, portly man waddled down the corridor.

"Williamson," the fat man replied in his usual, swine-like voice. "There is a situation in Block 3 that requires my attention, if you could buzz me through. . . . ."

The scarlet-robed man frowned slightly, wondering what could have occurred to warrant Chomsky's participation. The portly Warden was a joke among the Aurors stationed on the island, and Williamson and the others only associated with the man when left with no other choice.

Nodding his head almost reluctantly, Greg walked over to the magical control panel, failing to notice the slightly glazed look in the Warden's beady eyes. Also to escape the Auror's detection, was the slight glimmer as three disillusioned figures stealthily crept out of the lift and toward the security checkpoint.

Pushing down on the button marked 'OPEN', there was a buzzing sound, and Williamson stepped back as the gate between Corridor C and the checkpoint swung open. Chomsky walked through doorway with the same glazed look in his eyes, and this time, the young Auror noticed. Grabbing the Warden roughly by arm, Williamson peered into the man's small, beady brown eyes. . . . .

. . . . . . .and verbally cursed himself as he recognized a sign of the Imperius Curse. One hand flying into his robes, Williamson drew his wand with practiced ease, right as several voices shouted, _"Stupefy!"_

The pony-tailed Auror took all three Stunners in the chest, and was blasted off his feet and thrown toward the stone wall behind him. With a rather impressive crashing sound, Williamson hit the unforgiving wall and slid to the floor in a heap of scarlet robes, his head rolling to the side as the darkness washed over him.

Nine hours later he would wake up in a St. Mungo's hospital bed.

* * *

"Well, that sort of defeats the purpose of stealth," Harry remarked, eying the unconscious Auror as he cracked his wand hard over his head. Their was an odd sensation, as though something hot was trickling down his back, and Harry knew the Disillusionment Charm had been lifted. 

"Indeed," Morgan commented smoothly as he removed his own charm. "That resounding crash was rather loud. I do hope the entire prison has not been alerted as to our presence."

"Mmm," Nicolas hummed in agreement, unrolling the prison map once more and spreading it out across the control panel. "But that is out of our hands. We can only hope that the element of surprise remains with us.

"Now, we have broken through to the security checkpoint," the alchemist said, pointing to their current position on the map. "But in order to reach Cell Block 3, we still have to get past the Ministry Aurors. Who, according to this, are stationed in a command center twenty meters from the security checkpoint."

All three of them turned their heads in unison, peering down the corridor at the heavy, reinforced door at the other end. The heavy, reinforced door that separated them from the Aurors, and effectively from the cell of the man they wished to break out.

Bugger.

It appeared that Flamel was harboring thoughts along the same line, while Charles merely settled for a low whistle. Walking to the end of the corridor, Morgan knelt to the ground, closely examining the door and frame.

"Heavy iron," the former Unspeakable muttered, trailing a hand across the door. "Standard issue lock and handle, requiring magical clearance in order to pass. Door reinforced with multiple Strengthening Charms and numerous Stealth Sensoring Spells."

Turning toward Harry, the elder lord raised an elegant eyebrow. "And how, dare I ask, do you plan on getting past this. Or was this particular aspect of the operation not in your pre-devised plan?"

Harry merely raised one of his own eyebrows in response, emerald eyes narrowing slightly at the challenge apparent in Morgan's voice. To be honest, he hadn't made-up a plan at all, and was pretty much flying by the seat of his pants, playing with the cards dealt him.

So in summary, he was doing what he had done for the past five years.

Harry absentmindedly acknowledged that that strategy might not work here. Thinking quickly, emerald eyes moved from the impenetrable door to the stone wall that surrounded it. The stone wall that was unprotected by charms or wards. The stone wall that could be blasted through if the curse was powerful enough.

"I'm a Gryffindor," Harry said as he looked Morgan in the eyes. "We don't plan, we improvise."

That declared, the messy-haired youth pointed his wand at the stone wall and muttered two words.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

* * *

He could hear it already. The shouting and yelling of incantations. The loud impact as a curse misses its intended target. The dull thump or emotionless echo as a lifeless body hits the floor. 

It was the sound of battle; the symphony of the duel.

The sounds were familiar yet oddly strange; almost forgotten after fifteen years of hearing the same thing, after hearing the screams and insane mutters of the other inmates. He retained his sanity though, where few others ever had. Nevertheless, the cries of pain brought forth memories Norahdi Draven had all but forgotten.

Tom was coming, and per usual, death was coming with him.

The shouts and yells were getting closer, as the Aurors inevitably lost ground. The fools! Could they not see what was before them. Could they not see that they were all but squibs when compared to the Heir of Slytherin. Norahdi knew that better than any other, as he had been trained by the best.

And admitted so freely, albeit bitterly.

His own magical power was immense, as had been the power of his entire blood line. Yet his abilities were only substantial when compared to the Dark Lord. Tom could wield powers beyond imagination, powers that not even the old man could compete with.

The Aurors were already dead, they just didn't realize it. They were dead the moment they turned their wands on the Dark Lord.

The level of noise was slowly diminishing, and Norahdi could tell the battle was nearly over. Resolutely, he accepted the fact that he would soon be dead. Tom had no reason to keep him alive, and death was the price of betrayal. Of course, he reasoned, death couldn't be much different that what his life had been. Thirty-two years he had been on this earth, with fifteen of them spent in the company of Dementors. As for the remaining years, the majority of them had been spent in the service of Tom.

Which in retrospect, was nearly as bad as the soul-sucking fiends.

A series of clicking sounds jarred Norahdi from his thoughts, and piercing blue eyes looked up to see the iron door of his cell swing open. The Heir of Voldemort watched emotionlessly as a masked figure walked in, looking weary with robes slightly singed.

Absentmindedly, he noted the average height and slender build of the Death Eater, and wondered if Tom was taking them a bit younger these days. Norahdi merely watched as the robed figure stood in the doorway, faintly surprised that he was still breathing.

Of course, Tom no doubt wished to do the job himself.

As soon as that thought originated though, the Death Eater ripped off his white masked, revealing the messy black hair and piercing green eyes of a boy who could be no older than sixteen. The raven-haired youth watched the Dark Heir with an unreadable expression, cocking his head to the side as though contemplating something. He apparently came to a decision, for the boy gave a slight shrug and pulled a wand from within his black robes.

A wand that Norahdi recognized immediately, despite fifteen years of separation.

"Catch," the green-eyed boy said, tossing the slender piece of wood high into the air. Thunderstruck, the auburn-haired prisoner grabbed the wand as it fell, reveling in the immediate rush of power that surged through his body. He could feel the magic pumping within his veins, rising to the surface after so many years, as strong as the day the wand chose him.

"Glad to see your skills aren't completely rusty," the messy-haired youth said, a smirk spreading across his aristocratic face. "Welcome to Red Dawn."

* * *

High-heeled, buckled boots clicked softly on the stone floor, long robes and a purple cloak sweeping the ground as Albus Dumbledore walked through the darkened corridor. For the second time in recent weeks he had been summoned by Kingsley Shackelbolt, and for the second time the in recent weeks the Auror had told him it was urgent. 

Which brought Albus to the here and now, walking through the dank halls of a place he had always despised. The infamous Hell that was Azkaban Prison.

Popping a lemon drop into his mouth, the aged Headmaster came to the end of the corridor and entered the office of Azkaban Warden Norman Chomsky. Albus was not overly fond of the portly Warden, and knew all too well that it was only because of Fudge that Chomsky kept his job.

Surprisingly enough, the office was full of various ministry officials when he arrived, giving Albus reason to frown. It was disturbingly similar to the crowd that had gathered at Bellatrix Lestrange's murder site. Several members of the Minister's cabinet were present, as was the Head of the Auror Office, Rufus Scrimgeour, a man with grey-streaked tawny hair and keen, yellowish eyes that looked out from behind wire-rimmed spectacles.

A man of action, Albus thought, if somewhat forceful at times.

It was not Scrimgeour who he was looking for though, nor was it any of the other officials currently in the office. "Ah, Mr. Shackelbolt!" Albus exclaimed, feigning formality so as to avoid suspicion from any who may be watching. The dark skinned Auror had just entered the room, and walked toward the Headmaster after spotting him in through crowd.

"Dumbledore," the Order member greeted, motioning for Albus to follow him. "The Minister wishes to speak with you."

"But of course!" Albus beamed as he went with Kingsley. The dark skinned Auror led him out of the office and down the nearest corridor, which ultimately ended in the brass grilles of a lift.

"I assume there has been another escape?" Albus asked, dropping the 'Headmaster act' as soon as the grilles banged shut. At Kingsley's affirmative nod, the old wizard sighed wearily, making him look much older than he had moments before. "How many?"

"Only one escaped, surprisingly enough," Shackelbolt said as the lift stopped on the desired floor. The grilles opened with a bang, and the dark skinned Auror stepped out. "It was Norahdi Draven."

Albus froze in mid-step when he heard the name, his lined face snapping toward Kingsley in shock, and something akin to horror dawned in his aquamarine eyes. "_What did you say?_"

"Norahdi Draven," Kingsley repeated in a deep voice, his back turned toward the old sage. Had he bothered to look, the veteran Auror would have been shocked and puzzled to see Dumbledore's face completely devoid of color, and for a brief moment, it almost looked as though a lone tear was trickling into the Headmaster's silver beard.

"We got the alarm shortly after ten o'clock," Kingsley continued. "From what we can gather, three Death Eaters portkeyed directly into Chomsky's office. They overtook the Warden easily enough, not surprising, and then put him under the Imperius. After which they used him to gain access through the security checkpoint."

The bald-headed man went on to explain how the Death Eaters took out the entire Auror Squadron, using brutal but non lethal force. Kingsley continued as they walked down Corridor C, failing to notice that his words fell on deaf ears.

Albus followed the Auror as if in a trance, paying no attention to what the man was actually saying. The Mugwump was barely aware of the surroundings, his mind recalling events he had tried to forget. Events that the name 'Norahdi Draven' was painfully reminding him of.

_A blue-eyed boy, no older than five, laughing happily as he stroked the red and gold plumage of a beautiful, swan-like bird._

_A young man, eighteen perhaps, looking thoroughly bored as he sat on the hard bench of a Ministry containment cell. Long, auburn hair fell into his handsome face, shrouding cold, blue eyes as he ignored the Aurors that tried taunting him._

_The same man, a few years older, slightly thinner, auburn hair matted, sitting with his back to a stone wall, looking quite sane with a bored expression on his face, unnerving the Ministry officials who stood outside the cell._

Albus quickly shook his head, trying in vain to block the painful memories. There was _nothing_ he could do about it, the past was best left were it was.

Words reached his ears, and Dumbledore realized that Kingsley was still talking. Listening intently, he latched onto the Auror's every word, anything to forget. . . . .

" - got to Draven's cell, bypassed the Wards around Block 3," Shackelbolt commented as they walked into an open courtyard, the ocean wind blowing slightly. "Still trying to figure out how they did that one. . . . anyway, they got Draven out somehow.

"We're pretty sure that this was their exit point," Kingsley said, gesturing to the open courtyard they were currently standing in.

"And what makes you think that?" Albus asked, examining the courtyard closely. The veteran Auror merely raised an eyebrow at the question, and pointed upward toward the dark evening sky. The Headmaster followed the gesture, craning his neck as he looked up. . . . . . . .

. . . . . .and the twinkle vanished completely from his blue eyes. There, in the night sky above Azkaban, was a colossal skull, comprised of what looked to be emerald stars, with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue. It appeared to burn in a haze of greenish smoke, carved into the black sky like a new constellation.

The Dark Mark had risen again.

"Dumbledore!" a voice gasped from behind them. Albus and Kingsley turned in unison, only to see the Minister of Magic standing in the courtyard entrance, surrounded by several members of his cabinet.

"Hello, Cornelius," Albus said curtly, not bothering with titles or fake cheerfulness.

"W-what are you doing here, Dumbledore? And what is going. . . . . . . . .the Dark Mark," Fudge finished in a kind of whimper, staring up at the skull that dominated the nighttime sky. "Ooh, what is going. . . . why is. . . . . what does this _mean_?"

Fudge looked around wildly, as though expecting an answer or hoping someone would tell him what to do. Kingsley stared at the Minister, apparently wondering how the man could possibly be so daft. The Ministry officials merely stood there, perhaps wondering the same thing, or perhaps searching for an answer themselves.

"_What does this mean_?" Albus demanded magisterially, his patience with the incompetent minister breaking at last. "It _means_, Cornelius, that war is officially upon us, that the people can no longer turn a blind eye! It _means_, Cornelius, that the forces of darkness can attack when and where they wish! It _means_, Cornelius, that Lord Voldemort has regained his most powerful servant!

"It _means_, Cornelius," Dumbledore continued in a frigid voice," that the reign of terror has begun!"

* * *

**HOLY CANOLY, BATMAN! **An update? After _(checks calender)_ six weeks? Yes, about that. . . . .um. . . . .you see. . . . . .I'm sorry? I could prostrate myself before you and beg for forgiveness, put my fate in your hands or offer my life to the gods . . . . . 

. . . . .but I won't.

You see, Dalyon, unlike some other authors, wishes to retain some level of dignity and self-respect. Dalyon does not lower himself to the act of bowing or begging, nor does he feel it necessary to explain his updating lapse. Dalyon would much rather make sarcastic comments and discover the secret to immortality _(still having problems with that one)_.

Perhaps you think Dalyon is ungrateful, thankless, and self-centered? _Well_, maybe I'm not a 'reliable author', I'm not 'reader friendly', or 'reviewer considerate', I don't 'shower daily', or . . . .

What? Um, forget that last part.

**Anywhooo!**_ I_, Dalyon, can assure _you_, reader, that the next chapter will be posted within the two week schedule that I try to abide by. You see, I already have the chapter finished in my head, now I just have to find the damn thing.

Ain't that reassurin'? Anyway, this is Dalyon speaking, and remember, shit happens when you party naked.


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